


I AM YOU?!? (and please gods switch me back.)

by TalicTriesToWrite



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3racha is a thing but not really, ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Anxiety, Attempt at Humor, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bodyswap, Coming of Age, Complicated Relationships, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Loves Yang Jeongin | I.N, Fluff and Angst, Football | Soccer, Gen, Han Jisung | Han is a Sweetheart, Han Jisung | Han-centric, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, Masturbation, Minor Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rich Lee Minho | Lee Know, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sexual Humor, Some dark themes, THEYRE TEENS OKAY, for you guys, i am a child of god, mark this for later u cowards, one sided get rekt, oop-
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalicTriesToWrite/pseuds/TalicTriesToWrite
Summary: Han Jisung was just a normal high-school nerd. He had his two best friends who’d been with him since he was in diapers, Chan and Changbin, a friendly rivalry with know-it-all Kim Seungmin, and grades so high he could probably bring Satan up from hell.(And he also maybe had a few embarrassing secrets too – but that was all fine-)He also had another not-so-friendly rivalry; one with popular-pompous-privileged-prick soccer team captain Lee Minho, who he’d hated since forever, and who, even worse, is in his Ethics debating class. And isbeatinghim.But, overall those elements of his sophomore year were all he needed. All he wanted.And then one day he woke up in Lee Minho’s mega-ripped body, and in Lee Minho's mega-expensive mansion.Well, shit.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Han Jisung | Han & Seo Changbin, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 45
Kudos: 135





	1. In Which Jisung Has A Bad Day That Somehow Goes Exponentially Worse

The first thing Han Jisung did on Tuesday morning is wish for Chan’s slow and painful death when Justin Beiber’s ‘Baby’ comes through his phone speaker as his seven-a.m. alarm.

(Then he proceeded to turn the horrendous sound off and revoke his previous wish, because no matter what Chan did, Jisung could never wish his hyung harm.)

God, he was already tired.

“Sungie!” his mother’s caring voice came from the hallway. “Get in the shower before the hot water turns off!”

Jisung rolled over and stuffed his head into his pillow with a groan. School seemed impossible right now; it was his sophomore year and it was also, if he were to quote Changbin, ‘the worst year in the history of all years, World Wars excluded.’

However, the prospect of a freezing shower and _then_ having to go to school anyway was certainly worse, so with a quick countdown, (and a motivation quote from his Pinterest board _don’t laugh),_ he sprung out of bed.

His feet sunk into fluffy purple rug he had spent half his money on as he got up and he relaxed with a sigh, wondering how he could have such brilliant ideas such as this purchase.

He peered around his room, taking a moment to prepare himself for the day. His bedroom was rather laughably small, only room enough for a closet he picked up from the side of the road, a cramped and messy desk, and a single bed had basically outgrown.

Despite its flaws, he loved this room. He had even forced his friends to firstly, paint everything white to hide the ugly beige that was there before it, and then secondly to paint a ‘feature wall’ last summer; and now the wall opposite the door was a signature ‘edgy’ black.

(With fairy lights tangled all over it, so it was essentially perfect. But he turned them off at almost all times – to save on the energy bills.)

The morning went soundly. After a two minute shower to cut back on costs, a change into some comfy but rather eccentric clothes (last year he was voted most fashionable male and he wasn’t quite sure if that was a jab at his sexuality or not, but he decided to roll with it) and pushed open his bedroom door with a yawn.

“Morning honey,” his mother smiled, placing a bowl of cinnamon porridge on the dining table. “Breakfast’s served.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he flashed her back a genuine grin before tucking in, the flavours washing over his palate. Now, oatmeal may sound boring, but every morning his mother made it in the most perfect way, adding depth and layers and all that other stuff chefs on TV would be dying for (she used to be a chef before setting down.)

It was their sort of routine, in ways. It had been since he was a little boy. His mother making porridge or eggs and bacon in they had extra cash that week, and then the pair would feast together before Jisung had to get to school.

He liked it, more than he thanked her for.

“What’s on the schedule for today?” his mother asked, plopping down onto the table with her own steaming bowl of food.

“Nothing much,” Jisung said, taking another heavenly bite. “Getting my physics test back - if I don’t beat Seungmin _this time_ I’m going to riot!”

His mother laughed, the sound light and natural. “It’s good to have some friendly competition sweetie.”

Jisung groaned, one hand clutching his blonde-dyed hair in dramatic exasperation. “But Seungmin’s just _too_ good! He’s doing math with the _juniors!_ And he always beats me in physics.”

His mother quirked an eyebrow in a very-Seungmin fashion. “But you love him anyway, right?”

Jisung shovelled some more porridge into his mouth. “ _Right._ ”

Don’t get him wrong, he really did cherish the younger as a friend – he was his only friend his age, with Changbin and Chan one and two years older respectively. He and Seungmin also did similar classes, notably advanced maths and physics together and they always battled for the top of class.

(Seungmin usually beat him in physics, Jisung usually reigned victorious in advanced math, that’s just how it was.)

He stared back up towards his mother, who hummed while reading the newspaper she was too nostalgic to stop from getting delivered despite Jisung’s teasing. They were almost scarily similar; mother and son. They shared the same tanned skin, chubby cheeks but strong jawlines, the same sense of humour, optimism and fiery attitude.

He looked at the final, unoccupied chair at the head of the table. His father, when he was around sat there. He wondered if his mother missed the man as much as he did.

She probably did – they had so many things in common after all.

A car’s horn sounded from outside.

“Chan’s coming to pick you up, right?”

“Yep!” Jisung chirped, throwing his scraped-clean dish in the sink, hoping Chan wouldn’t be _too_ pissed at him from making him wait. “Thanks for breakfast, Mum.”

He rushed out with a kiss to her cheek before escaping back into his bedroom, throwing half the books on his desk into his bag and essentially sprinting outside.

He burst into a smile and the sight of the elder who was blasting his rap tracks at the ungodly hour of the morning, and quietly bopping his head along.

“Channie-hyung!” he called out when he got into the passenger seat of elder’s weird Jeep and the other snapped his eyes open.

“Jesus, Sung, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Chan muttered fondly, before indicting and checking in his mirror (road safety, everyone) and driving away.

“Well, I needed to do something to wake you up,” Jisung smiled, turning the rap down slightly, so he didn’t have to yell. “We getting coffee?”

Chan nodded with a smug grin, flashing a yellow credit card up from the drink holder. “Yep. Bin’s paying.”

Jisung snorted. “Does he know?”

Chan eyed him cheekily. “Nope.”

Jisung laughed rambunctiously. “I’m _so_ getting double whipped cream.”

Chan smiled, somewhat lopsidedly in his dorky sense at that. “Well, we better get going then.”

When the duo reached Changbin’s house on the good side of town, with large expensive drinks in their hands the shorter boy was less than impressed.

“I’m in the backseat too?” the boy whined with a pout and Jisung laughed again.

“Get in, Bin,” Chan rhymed and Changbin, albeit still grumbling, obeyed. “I got you this.”

Chan stretched out a hidden vanilla latte, Changbin’s favourite, with that same goofy smile on his face. “Here.”

Jisung rolled his eyes as Changbin tentatively accepted the coffee, a rather obvious blush on his cheeks.

Chan, however, in his annoying obliviousness didn’t notice; just turned around and started driving.

Jisung peered back at Changbin, who was now sipping his drink with a dazed look of embarrassed thoughtfulness, his lips slightly apart.

God, his two friends were so irritating, in the best and worst way possible.

They had all grown up together; their mothers all attending the same day-care centre and had basically raised their three sons as each of their own. Of course, Chan had moved to back to Australia for a few years, and then Jisung to Malaysia, but they had all eventually returned back to South Korea and the same neighbourhood by the time Jisung was eleven.

However, it seemed unlike himself, Changbin had not been able to keep things strictly platonic. When Changbin had gone into freshman year (one year after Chan and one year before Jisung, a fact that thirteen-year-old Jisung had been _extremely_ jealous of) he had confessed his feelings about the eldest of their trio.

Almost three years later the boy still hadn’t made his move. And Jisung wasn’t quite sure about the situation – Chan was bisexual, but definitely not into Changbin, whether he pulled his head out of his ass and noticed the younger’s attraction or not. Romance was confusing, and the last thing any of them wanted was to ruin a fifteen-almost-sixteen-year friendship.

In some ways he could see where Changbin was coming from. Chan was effortlessly funny, talented in his music and basically anything else he tried, possessed great leadership and social skills, and was… well… _hot._

He’d be lying if he said he had never had any hormone-driven fantasies about the elder, but it always ended in some left-hand shame. Despite his horny mind, he could never _actually_ go through with anything like that with either Chan _or_ Changbin. It felt… weird.

Jisung looked out the window with a sigh.

Although it was all complicated, he always felt slightly… left out of it all.

“What’s worrying your little head?” Chan asked as he pulled into the school, making a face at someone who tried to take his park.

Jisung glared at the elder for the sugar-sweet toe and tried not to think about how much Changbin would love to be on the receiving end of the Australian’s coddling. “Nothing, hyung.”

“Nothing means something’s _definitely_ wrong,” Changbin obnoxiously slurped his drink, and Jisung glowered at the elder.

“It’s nothing, okay?” he crossed his arms defiantly. Chan just snickered, then stopped and turned off the car.

“C’mon guys, first period starts in five,” Changbin said, getting out of the rickety Jeep.

“I’m gonna find out what’s wrong,” Chan wiggled his eyebrows and followed after Changbin.

Jisung sighed again and rested his head on the comforter. Chan was right. They had been friends for so long, it was near impossible to hide anything from either of the two.

He wondered how Changbin had done it for years.

The muted noise of loud chattering students suddenly made his heart beat slightly faster. His relationship with school was almost as complicated as Changbin’s with Chan. He loved to learn; curious by nature, but he wasn’t exactly a fan of the crowded hallways, loud jeers and stress of it all.

_Alright, Jisung,_ he hyped himself up, grabbing his neon yellow backpack as he exited the car and walked over to where his friends were waiting. _You can do this, it’s just a day of school._

Crinkling his eyes up at the sun, he cast a glance around the parking lot and school in general. It was beautifully built, one of the nation’s top-scoring single-sex education systems, however, grades weren’t the only thing it was known for.

Sport, more specifically soccer, was the school’s front and centre; its pride.

It could easily be seen how much money the school board poured into soccer, with carefully kept stretches of vibrant almost other-worldly green pitches for its team, training them mercilessly for a pathway into Seoul’s national teams.

Although the soccer team was the school’s favourite element, it was Jisung’s least favourite.

Soccer fields and solving the derivatives of functions were completely different things, opposite even. And although the diminutive number of mathematically gifted students such as himself got him the scholarship that allowed him to be here in the first place, jock-jack-ass culture was the pinnacle of the school.

And that was what he hated most.

“Sung, you good?” Chan breathed into his ear as they walked and Jisung forced a nod, clenching his backpack straps tighter and forcing on the smile he was known for.

“All good!” he replied shrilly and one look at his friends told him that neither of them believed it.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” Changbin hummed. “I have a spare first period.”

Jisung nodded. “Got it.”

By the time he snaked his way around the bustling halls, only bumping into someone once, saying a few ‘hellos’’, and made it to his physics classroom he had mostly calmed down.

He sucked in his cheeks in thought. _Damn, why is my anxiety playing up so much already?_

“Jisung.”

At the call of his name, Jisung snapped his head up.

There, sitting peacefully in the front row of the classroom was Seungmin, his book neatly laid out in front of him with his cutesy Gudetama stationary Jisung had bought him as a joke for the other’s birthday neatly and precariously placed in a straight line.

Seungmin was logical, methodical, calm, sarcastic, and everything Jisung needed to distract him from his spiralling thoughts.

“Hey, Min,” Jisung smiled, making his way over to his desk right beside the younger. “What’s up?”

Seungmin rolled his eyes and ignored him out of spite. Jisung chuckled quietly; in Seungmin-language that meant good. It may not look like they had a strong relationship, but in actuality, they had been in the same classes since freshman year – constantly aiming to one-up each other in grades.

Seungmin was the only other student in his year with a mathematics scholarship (and although Jisung hated to admit it, Seungmin’s natural intelligence got him an extra few hundred thousand won off his tuition compared to his own seventy-five percent-worth endowment.)

The only thing Jisung had been able to continuously top him in, was advanced mathematics, a fact he held high and proud.

“You ready to get owned in these test results?” Jisung challenged, cheekily side-eying the younger as the rest of the class filled up behind them.

That seemed to get Seungmin’s attention.

“Wow, when did I turn into a mirror? And that seems like a pretty sad thing to prep-talk yourself for, Hyung,” Seungmin bit back, his nasally voice stubborn and dripping with mockery.

Jisung bit his lip and turned away, so the younger wouldn’t get the satisfaction of his jaded, but playful insult. Damn, he needed to think of a comeback quick.

“What? Can’t think today?”

“M-Mirrors can’t speak!” Jisung stammered and Seungmin just raised an unimpressed eyebrow, before sniggering and opening his notebook to the final page.

Jisung watched resignedly as Seungmin uncapped his Gudetama fine-liner and drew a neat vertical line under his own name. It was a scoreboard; a tally.

“Thirty-two, you, thirty-three, me,” Seungmin rhymed and put down his pen, cockiness radiating of off him.

Jisung sighed dramatically in defeat but couldn’t stop the small smile from creeping onto his face.

(When they got their marks back, Seungmin got a 96, with Jisung one per cent ahead. Triumphant, he turned to the back of _his_ notebook and drew a line under his own name. Seungmin just rolled his eyes.)

Jisung almost cringed when a sludge of beige the school called meat was dumped onto his lunch-tray. Still, he bowed to the man behind the counter, scanned his student ID and walked over to where Changbin was sitting, waiting for him with three brown paper bags.

“Here,” Changbin threw him one of the packages when Jisung sat down. “Don’t know what’s in it. Probably a sandwich.”

“A Seo classic,” Jisung quipped, pulling out the triple-layered large meal and unwrapping the plastic surrounding it.

“What’s that?” Changbin scrunched up his nose at the foul odour emitting from the school’s meal.

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek. “Too scared to try it yet.”

He dug into the sandwich Changbin’s father made religiously and tried to push away the guilt niggling at the back of his mind at the rather terrible looking school food.

As a part of his scholarship and an investigation into his home, Jisung’s application for financial aid had been accepted at the beginning of the year. It was good in some senses – his mother didn’t need to buy him snacks or pack him lunches anymore, but the downside was the food itself.

There were two tiers to scholarships with financial aid; the first being academic scholarship and the second being sport, namely soccer.

Jisung fell into the prior category, and that meant as he wasn’t ‘exceeding the amount of caloric intake on school grounds in sporting activities,’ he hadn’t met the requirement for the healthier, far better-tasting lunches the soccer team could get.

The system was bullshit, everyone knew it, but it merely was.

“Where’s Chan-hyung?” Changbin pondered and Jisung groaned.

“Is my company really not enough to satisfy you?” he teased with a pout.

Changbin flushed a spectacular scarlet. “S-Shut up, he could be here any moment!”

“He won’t be. He’s talking to his music teacher; it’s Tuesday,” Jisung stated, remembering the elder’s routine.

Changbin just grumbled something incoherently.

“Hyung…” Jisung started, not knowing if it was his place to comment on the elder’s situation. “Don’t you think… it’s time to – I don’t _know_ – move on?”

Changbin’s face went blank and Jisung immediately wished he could retract his offending words.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered, waving his hands around in apology, getting crumbs everywhere. “I didn’t mean-”

“No,” Changbin interrupted quietly, sighing through his nose with a deflated puff. “I know, Sung, I know.”

Jisung chewed on his meal in awkward silence, regretting even bringing it up. “Maybe you just need to meet someone else?”

Changbin didn’t look convinced but forced a soft smile anyway. “Maybe-”

“Oi, Oi, Oi!” the cheer came boisterously from across the room and already knowing what was going on, Jisung turned to the entrance of the cafeteria.

Clad in a mixture of formal school uniforms and sports jerseys came several tall, athletic figures; the most popular boys (yes somehow their prestigious high school still had the construct of popularity); otherwise known as the first division soccer team.

Jisung judgementally stared at the one cheering; a dyed dusty-blonde haired boy from Australia who actually seemed the best of the bunch, however that status was neither an achievement nor hard to be. It was like being the best cockroach, which really wasn’t saying much at all.

Then, at the centre of it all, the team’s striker, captain, and popular-prick extraordinaire: Lee Minho.

He was rich, athletic, popular, a player (both with soccer balls and people’s hearts), insanely attractive (which irked Jisung to no end), had a lot of friends (and two girlfriends from their sister school?), and even with all the opportunities, he had, still a complete asshole.

Jisung scowled. Lee Minho was the worst of them all.

“Why do you let the soccer team rile you up so much?” Changbin asked, obviously amused.

“They _don’t_ ,” Jisung combated, aggressively shoving more of the sandwich into his mouth. “It’s just annoying, they all have a superiority complex because they can kick a ball into a net! _Wow, big_ _achievement,_ let’s go feed into jock culture and make people’s lives living hell because they aren’t six feet tall.”

Changbin raised his eyebrows. “Really? They’re not _all_ bad, Sung.”

Jisung frowned, “But most of them _are!_ And that’s the issue – they’re treated like _royalty_ around here by everyone, even the teachers, and it gets to their big, stupid heads! Have you seen how Mr. Jang treats Minho? It's completely absurd-”

“ _Hey,_ ” Changbin’s words were cold like ice and that’s when he knew he had gone too far. “Chan’s the best out of all three of us, and he was almost _right there_ with them.”

Jisung frowned, about to retort with a snarky ‘ _you only think he’s the best because you’re in love with him,_ ’ but, speaking of the devil, Chan plopped down on the seat right beside Changbin.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly, peering between the two when he (in a rather delayed fashion) realised tension had stretched over the table.

“Nothing, hyung,” Changbin uttered softly and passed him a brown paper bag.

Comedically, Chan looked up towards Jisung and mouthed a confused ‘ _what’s with him?_ ’ but Jisung just shook his head, meaning lay off, and Chan just nodded before tucking into his sandwich.

_If only he knew that_ he _was the whole issue here,_ Jisung nibbled on his sandwich. His eyes trailed over back towards the soccer team (who _obviously_ got the best table which was, rather ironically placed in the centre of the room) and were now laughing at a joke one of them said. (It was probably about dicks or sport: funny because _they_ were the dicks playing sport.)

He trailed his eyes over the squad, only able to put a name to a few of the faces despite it having been pushed into his agenda every three seconds. Now he didn’t know a lot about soccer despite the school’s preaching’s, but there were only ten people at that table, and he knew there were supposed to be eleven people per team.

Maybe one of them had some sense after all and decided not to voluntarily associate himself with the pricks of the world.

“Sung, you’re staring,” Chan stated and Jisung pouted at how loud the elder’s voice was. “What you thinkin’ bout?”

“I swear, I wish I could just live a day in the life of _them_ ,” he motioned over towards the team with jazz hands. “I wonder what it would be like to get away with being an uncaring jerk all the time.”

“ _Jisung-_ ” Changbin started, agitated, but Chan threw his head back in laughter, garnering some attention from the surrounding tables.

“You’re Mister Cynical today, huh?” Chan poked and Jisung just huffed.

Chan, like always, was right. What _was_ with him today? He prided himself on his optimism, a compliment he heard from almost everyone who met him, but it seemed today it was almost like he woke up in someone else’s bed.

“I don’t know,” he grumbled, trying to shake off his grumpy feeling lingering over him. “I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“What have you got last period?” Changbin asked, seemingly talking to him again.

Jisung clicked on his phone, where his timetable, due to his terrible memory, was the screensaver.

“Uh-” he stalled, scanning the rather poorly laid-out timetable. He gently smacked his head on the lunch table with a suffering and drawn-out groan when he realised the terrible, terrible truth. “ _Ethics.”_

“Aw,” Chan sympathised but failed as his laugher snuck through the otherwise kind sentiment. “Ethics can’t be _groan_ -worthy Sung - you’re great at debating. Even _I_ liked it, so how bad can it be.”

“Yeah,” Changbin chimed in (in agreement with Chan obviously.) “ _But_ , I’m glad I chose Korean History instead.”

Jisung sulked for a few seconds until the smell of the school-provided lunch became too pungent and he sat up again. “It’s a good subject, and yes, Chan-hyung, I _am_ great at debating-” he started, stealing the elder’s words, “But I hate my class! Ethics is so easy and yet I’m not even ranked first!”

Chan frowned. “Who’s first, then?”

“Lee Minho,” Changbin replied bluntly while Jisung groaned again at the heinous name.

“Doth not alloweth thy devilish name come between thine lips,” Jisung ranted and Changbin just sighed, used to his wacky impressions.

And of course, at that fateful moment, the bell rang.

“Too bad Sungie, times up,” Chan clapped him on the back and Jisung winced at just how strong the senior was.

“Don’t make me drag you to class,” Changbin warned.

Chan laughed at that and the revolting thought of how _soft_ Changbin would be at the fact the elder had _giggled_ at his joke, was the only thing that made Jisung get his head off the table.

“I feel bad throwing this food away,” he said, tossing the unidentified substance into the trash bin.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Changbin grimaced. “Whatever the hell it was, it goes against every principle I’ve ever had. My dad will make one hundred sandwiches to save you from that fate of food poisoning.”

“Or plastic ingestion from the looks of that meat,” Chan agreed.

“Did you know we consume around five grams of plastic per week?” Jisung shrugged, weaving through the crowd of students, his two friends at his heels. “That’s like, the size of Bin-hyung’s yellow credit card!”

“Wait, _you know_ where my credit card is?”

Jisung looked guiltily at Chan. Then so did Changbin, accusatory and completely shocked. Chan’s pale skin went bright red.

And then all three of them started to laugh.

“It’s obvious that editing an unborn child’s genes is completely _absurd_ and interferes with the natural cycle of life and death,” Minho’s irritating and commanding voice left the classroom in awed silence.

Jisung rested his cheek on the palm of his hand, indignance brewing at each of the junior’s ludicrous points.

“If this technology, which I may add, is currently unstable and dangerous, advances, it is in human nature to exploit this to an extent that the impact will be destructive and irreversible.”

This was why he hated ethics, and for the second time that day, he cursed Chan. This time for letting the elder talk him into choosing Ethics as this semester’s elective course, when both Korean History, which Changbin was taking, and Business something he was actually interested in, were both far more suitable options.

The elective courses were combined classes of sophomores and juniors (hence why Lee Minho was sitting a few chairs away from him at this very moment), and as there were no math or science options, Jisung hadn’t put much thought into his decision.

And now, he regretted it.

But more than that, Minho, top of the class Lee-damn-Minho who seemingly had a passion for Ethics or was blowing the teacher, was talking absolute bullshit.

“Excuse me!” he raised his hand and stood up when the teacher pointed at him so he could talk. “But, the point that ‘interfering’ with life’s ‘cycle’ is a primitive and out-dated idea.”

The class groaned. Minho looked unbothered; expectant.

Well, _maybe_ he was being _slightly_ predictable. He did do this every lesson.

“Every day, innocent babies die or have their lives negatively altered due to genetic disorders and inherited traits, all that can be easily changed with the technology available today,” Jisung walked to the front of the classroom, gently pushing Minho out of the way.

“- If these hereditary problems can be stopped,” Jisung paused, surveying the classroom to try and sell his point. “Widespread suffering of the human race can be eliminated; thousands of lives can be saved. Why should innocent people have their chance of living taken away before they are even born? ”

“What-” Minho interrupted, nudging Jisung out of the way coolly. “What gives us, the people of today, the right to _alter_ the genetics of future generations to come without their consent? This, if you haven’t noticed Jisung, is Ethics class, and destroying the natural traits of people too young to give explicit consent, is an _ethical_ breach-”

“ _However_ ,” Jisung pushed Minho out of the way again, harsher this time so he could stand in the centre of the front of the room, biting his tongue on all the _consent_ quips could make. “Isn’t saving innocent lives the only _humane_ approach to our future generations?”

“But modifying genetics is scientific, unnatural,” he argued, staring into Jisung’s eyes. “The only _humane_ thing is letting _humans_ be humans. Natural. Not a science project.”

Jisung frowned, opening his mouth to rebuke, but the loud clapping of Mr. Jang made both boys pause.

“Alright you two,” Mr. Jang said, his top lip covered by a bristly moustache. “I think you both delivered strong and convincing points. Jisung, thank you for participating in the discussion.”

Jisung just stiffly nodded, not quite sure whether the teacher was being sarcastic or not.

He looked into Minho’s eyes. Dark, swirling with something Jisung couldn’t quite put his finger on.

It was almost… electrifying.

He sighed and walked back to his seat. God, debating was tiring, especially if it was with Minho who seemed to pick apart his every argument and turn it into a jaded insult.

How did someone take the fun out of proving a point? That was literally like, his _favourite_ activity! His mother would know.

“Human, _humane_ ,” Jisung grumbled under his breath as he walked down the hallway as the final bell rang. “ _Jesus,_ he’s annoying.”

“What’s got you down?” Chan asked, swinging an arm over his shoulder, jostling it in the process.

“Lee Minho’s got me down,” Jisung complained and smacked the elder’s arm when he took it the wrong way. “I don’t know _how_ , but he makes me look like an idiot every class! It’s insane!”

“Well, don’t you debate _against_ him every lesson?” Changbin appeared from nowhere and Jisung scoffed, squeezing out of Chan’s grasp.

“Yeah, isn’t he the best debater here? I’m _sure_ he won a prize for it when I was in sophomore year,” Chan mused, scratching his chin and grabbing the car keys out of his pocket.

“Thanks for the support,” Jisung mumbled before throwing his bag, and himself in the backseat, not bothering to fight Changbin for the passenger seat like he usually did.

“You really are down, huh?” Chan hummed, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror when they got on the road.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Changbin turned around, a hint of concern dripping into his voice. “Or were you studying.”

“No, I got some sleep,” Jisung answered and forced himself to sit up, to assure his friends that he was alright.

He stifled a yawn. “I’m all good, really. Maybe I didn’t get a good _quality_ of sleep. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Chan held his gaze in the mirror for another few seconds before diverting his attention back to the road. “I’ll drop you home first then.”

Jisung frowned. “But then you’ll have to take the long way.”

“It’s fine,” Changbin said quickly and with one look at the elder Jisung knew what was going on.

God, spending an extra fifteen minutes with Chan was probably the other’s wet dream.

Eyes widening at the intrusive image and thought, he pushed it as fast as he could to the dark corner of his mind.

He stayed relatively quiet the car ride home, letting the elder pair do the talking. He could tell Chan was worried as he probably spent more time looking at Jisung in his mirror than at the road ahead, but Jisung just brushed him off.

Something felt… odd today. And he couldn’t quite describe it, which, being a self-proclaimed master of words, was never a good thing.

When Chan pulled up at his house, Jisung stayed put for a moment.

“Thanks for the ride,” he smiled when he realised Chan and Changbin were going to jump into an interrogation on his mental health if he didn’t speak up.

“See you seven-forty-five tomorrow?” Chan asked softly and Jisung nodded before hopping out of the old and somehow-still-surviving Jeep.

He waved at the pair and watched as the Jeep clanged down the road, heading towards the better side of town.

Pushing the strange feeling away, he turned and carefully trudged up the dilapidated and concerningly soft three wooden steps to the front door.

He opened it with a creak and went inside. His mother would be working at this time, like how she was every weekday. Sniffing and throwing his bag on the couch, he eyed the fridge, his stomach rumbling.

But when he opened it, it was essentially empty. Unless he wanted to feast on raw broccoli, sticks of butter, three eggs, some salami and… that was it.

He closed it with a sigh, something he felt like he had been doing several times that day.

The Han family calendar was posted on the fridge. He scanned the boxes and numbers, his eyes landing on one particular date, just two weeks away, written in red handwriting.

_Dad’s flight arrival: 20:00, AX45YJ_

His heart leapt into his throat. He was excited – he hadn’t seen his father in months; the man had stayed in Malaysia rather than returning to South Korea with the family all those years before.

He pinched his forehead, that had started to throb with an incoming migraine and looked away from the calendar. Instead of a snack and ignoring the _‘please eat before taking’_ instructions on the back the box, he took some painkillers and water and called it an afternoon.

Pushing back the overwhelming urge to jump onto his bed and lose himself in binging dramas, Jisung sluggishly went over to his desk and pulled out his homework.

A stupid headache couldn’t stop him; he had his own and his teacher’s expectations to meet. Beating Seungmin is that Physics test had given him a boost of encouragement, and he couldn’t let his guard down on English, a class he barely cared about, or Advanced Mathematics.

Humming, feeling slightly better now the effects of the pain killers were settling in, he grabbed his math sheets, more specifically his ones for Math Club.

Now, he knew that sounded pretty lame, but it really wasn’t. All recipients of mathematic based scholarships (equating to only seven people) had to do Math Club; it was school policy, for all scholarship students.

Chan, who was on a half-paid bursary for music, had his after-school sessions on Thursday afternoons which Jisung thought was a little unfair because since there were only seven people in his club (as no one did it willingly), the only time they could book was Monday mornings at six-thirty a.m.

Joy.

But it wasn’t all bad – Seungmin was there too, and they were head to head in correct answers. Despite Jisung’s superior grades in Advanced Mathematics, Seungmin was actually taking Maths Essential a year early.

(Jisung had thrown a fit when Seungmin had told him this at the beginning of the year in physics. Of course, Jisung had gone up to the principal to ask if he could take the junior-year-level math too instead of the sophomore-one, but his timetable clashed too severely and when he walked out defeated, Seungmin had just laughed.)

What he was trying to say, that basically they were infuriatingly at the same level at math, which, as his mother had said earlier, was good for ‘friendly competition’ but bad for Jisung’s ego.

However, Math Club, although a complete drag on Monday mornings which made him regret everything, had its perks. Every six months or so all seven of them would be invited to a national contest to show their skills and everything!

_No time for a geek-out, jeez,_ he shook his head, forgetting his headache and wincing as the ringing came back full force. He fixed his vision back on his homework again. _Let’s do this._

Four hours later all his homework was thankfully completed, but his headache had turned into a full-on migraine.

“Have some soup,” his mother urged gently, but after one spoonful of the warm, flavour-enriched liquid he ducked away.

“Sorry for wasting the food,” he croaked, and his mother’s soothing hush made him lie back down.

“Don’t worry about the soup, honey,” she laughed quietly.

Jisung relaxed into the way her cold hand met his burning hairline, then run through his sweaty locks.

“Your temperature’s really high,” she started softly and Jisung flinched at the loud sound of a metal spoon ringing against the porcelain bowl as she set it on his desk. “I don’t think you’ll be able to go to school tomorrow.”

He blinked open an eye and attempted a pout. “But I _like_ school.”

She chuckled again, the sound playful and light, contrasting her dark eye bags. “And it’s one of your greatest strengths, sweetie.”

Jisung closed his eyes again, the light from the hallway creeping under the door to bright for his sensitive eyes and brain.

“Love you, Mum.”

The hand came through his hair again. “I love you too.”

When he blinked open his eyes again, he was blinded by light.

The first thing he noticed was how soft his sheets and duvet was. The second thing he noticed, that his body felt like it was on fire.

_Jesus,_ he lamented, closing his eyes again and nestling into his softer than usual sheets, fluffier than usual pillows. _My fever must have not broken yet._

He turned again, expecting the migraine to return full force, but his head was fine; it was just… his body.

With a sharp inhale of breath, he gingerly opened his eyes.

The ceiling looked further away than usual. Way further away than usual – and there were no weird beige-cream unpainted parts on it like there was usually. (Changbin had been too short to paint some areas of the ceiling and it was too funny to even try to help him.)

Stifling a groan, he rolled over to reach his phone from it’s charging port on the floor, but his head met the corner of something hard before he could reach his phone. Blearily he opened a single eye and spotted a marble bedside table.

_The fuck? How long was I out for? Or am I imagining this?_

Apprehensively, he reached out and ran a hand over the smooth, cold, _expensive_ surface. It was definitely real – he couldn’t touch things in his dream, more so control them.

_Am I hallucinating?_

On the bedside table, there was a black modern alarm clock too.

The time read three-minutes-past-eight.

Oh god, Chan was going to be pissed.

“Mum?” he called out, trying to shake off his woozy state and move his legs, which felt like the damn marble he had just touched on how numb and heavy they felt. “Mum!” he yelled again wondering why she hadn’t woken him up, why she wasn’t coming in, why she-

His hands. His hands were a different colour, shades lighter than his naturally tanned complexion.

_Please tell me I’m dreaming-_

His heart beat faster.

He looked at his bedsheets (navy), and beside his large, at least queen-sized bed.

The floor was large, perfectly placed white tile. No purple rug in sight.

He felt out of breath, but the physical symptoms of his anxiety that usually accompanied these types of situations weren’t there, making him more concerned.

No shaky and clammy hands, no burning cheeks, no nausea or light-headedness.

He swallowed; the motion unfamiliar to himself. _What the hell is going on?_

Then he spotted the bottom of a large mirror, beside his bed. Slowly, fearful of what he might see, his heart beating a hundred times a second, his eyes travelled up the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

When he saw what was presented to him, all the breath in his body left his lungs.

Because in front of him, was no one other than Lee Minho.

The rich, athletic, popular, player, insanely attractive social butterfly, complete asshole, incessantly irritating, good-at-debating, soccer team striker, captain, and popular-prick extraordinaire: Lee Minho.

Jisung stretched out his right arm. Minho did the same.

He waved with his left. Mirror-Minho copied his every movement, every facial expression, every panting breath.

After another minute of wishing he would wake up, and absolutely zero successes, (along with three mental breakdowns) he came to one conclusion.

Something had gone utterly, and terribly wrong.

Because he, Han Jisung, had somehow switched lives and places with his arch-nemeses Lee-god-damned-Minho.

_Oh, fuck._


	2. In Which Jisung Has to Live Through the Godly Life of Lee Minho

He had been in the body of Lee Minho for five minutes and he still was freaking the fuck out.

“Minho!” a cold yell came from downstairs (there was a downstairs to this place? How rich _was_ Lee Minho? Or… himself now…?) and Jisung jumped.

The reflection of Minho did the same.

With a wobbly sigh, he ran a pale hand through his very-not-blonde or dead hair. _And I thought I was having a shitty time yesterday!_

For a second he wondered if going back to sleep was the right option. Maybe he could just stay inside the bedroom until this was all sorted and he was, literally, back to himself. He could claim sickness – Jesus, he’d probably be sent flowers and get-well cards from the girls at the neighbouring school.

It _could_ work -

“Minho! Get down here this instant!” the shrill voice came again and Jisung swallowed, his silence obviously making her more irritated.

Welp, there went that plan.

“Y-Yep!” he weakly called back. His voice had changed too; it was higher, way more annoying. He turned back towards the alarm clock. Eight-fifteen.

School started in fifteen minutes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed, throwing the soft and heavy duvet of his body and opening his huge slide-open closet with a _slam._

_Do I shower? Where does Lee Minho shower? God, what is happening to me?_

His feet freezing on the tiles he trapezed over to a white door, praying it wasn’t to a secret-fifth-dimension or, even worse, Minho’s parent’s room.

No time to waste, he carefully pushed it open.

It was a bathroom, a private one by the looks of it. What did the one-percent call this again? An _ensuite?_

He only had a few seconds to marvel at the literal marble counter-tops the shower that was three times bigger than his own, and the expensive-looking skin-care products beside the _two_ built-in faucets.

Another distant yell made him flinch and he closed the door guiltily, like he was a child doing something he shouldn’t.

He stared back up at the all-white ceiling in prayer. _If there is anything out there, any higher-being, I ask of you that you please switch me back._

He closed his eyes and waited.

And waited and waited. But there was no sense of vertigo, weird magical wizard showing up nor any portals being opened.

_Great._

Well he didn’t have any time to wallow in the short-comings of the gods and question religion, so (with his feet now _burning_ from being so cold) he padded over towards the closet and pulled out his school uniform.

_Okay, what do I know about Lee Minho?_ He pondered, throwing off his warm soft hoodie, and replacing it with the white school shirt.

_First, he’s a prick, second, he’s popular, third he’s…_

Jisung’s gaze was frozen at the mirror, where he was buttoning up his shirt. There, the skin exposed, was… strong; muscly. Lee Minho had abs of steel.

_Okay,_ Jisung thought, looking away from the image that branded into his long-term memory. _Third, he’s ripped; obvious if anyone played that much soccer they’d be to and fourthly –_

He stared at his abdomen in interest: the pale skin was speckled with light bruises; hence why he felt so much pain when he had tried to move. He quickly buttoned the final part, feeling like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to. _Fourthly, it also looks like soccer practice hurts like a bitch._

Jisung looked down again, this time lower than his (Lee Minho’s?) abdomen.

_Oh, fuck._

Hesitantly, he lifted the waistband of the sweatpants Lee Minho had gone to bed in.

He snapped it back with a fiery blush.

_Welp, fifth; Lee Minho is… genetically gifted, that’s for sure-_

Just like everything, he pushed the image to the back of his mind and squeezed his eyes shut as he stripped himself of his ( _his? God, this was getting confusing)_ underwear and replaced it with a new, orange pair and slacks.

Just as he was about to slide the closet door shut, his eyes caught the soccer uniform hanging limply off the wall.

Oh shit, there was no way in hell he was playing any soccer. He’d just have to pray there wasn’t any today and when he woke up tomorrow, he’d be back in his body, in his room, in his house; not the mega-mansion and mega-ripped body of today.

“Minho! Now!” the screech came again, and, somewhat like yesterday, Jisung sprinted to his desk, scooped and shoved every pencil and paper he found into his backpack, (as well as an advanced-alien-technology-looking-phone into his pocket) and ran downstairs (after taking a few wrong turns, of course.)

“I’m here!” he called, expecting to be out of breath from his running, but surprisingly not.

“Good,” Mrs. Lee said sternly and Jisung felt he would crumble like old ruins under her narrowed, very-Minho-like gaze. “Let’s go.”

The car-ride to school was nothing short of awkward. He, Han Jisung, had absolutely no clue what Minho would be talking about, or even if he’d be talking at all; but seeing on how Mrs. Lee kept her eyes on the road (unlike how Chan would) and did not initiate conversation, he decided to let it go.

Instead he turned his focus to the phone resting in his pocket. Several messages had come to it since he had woken, mainly from people that he, as Han Jisung, didn’t know. Carefully, he grabbed the device and admired its futuristic design for a few moments.

It was from a top brand, and if he remembered correctly, was the latest model that came out last month.

_I bet it costs more than the money I have in my bank account._ Not knowing how to use it, and not wanting to accidentally break it either, he slid it back to the safety of his pocket.

Despite his pride in himself and his achievements, he couldn’t help but compare his own and Minho’s financial status. If the Lee’s really had enough money to blow on constantly updating their phones for no reason, they were seriously loaded.

That money for the very phone resting in his pocket would equate to around three weeks’ worth of living expenses for himself and his mother, bills, mortgage, and food included; maybe with some even to spare.

And yet right now, on the bad side of town, his mother was probably illegally catching the bus to work, skipping out on the travel fare so she could afford dinner.

The phone weighed like a brick in his pocket. He wondered how Minho could live guilt-free every day.

“Thanks,” he said with a strained smile when they pulled up to the back of the school. (In the private parking bay? He didn’t even know there _was_ a private parking bay!)

Minho’s mother frowned for a second before nodding and driving off, her jet black million-dollar American car making a ‘ _vrooming_ ’ sound as it sped into the distance.

Jisung sighed and slicked a hand through his hair, not used to the soft, healthy locks, shorter than his own. The first part of his day was over. Kind of.

His stomach growled and Jisung sniffed, wishing he had gotten up earlier for breakfast. However, strangely, there was no food waiting for him at all, nor did Mrs. Lee look like the type to sit down with him and chat over porridge.

His anxiety swung by full-force at the reality of his situation; today he would have to _be_ Lee Minho. _Embody_ the boy’s personality he didn’t know, sit through classes he wouldn’t understand _nor_ did he actually know ( _somehow he needed to get Minho’s timetable),_ hang with the _soccer team,_ his (as in his own’s) _worst nightmare_ for god’s sake.

But, just like before, the _physical_ symptoms of his anxiety were nowhere to be found.

The school bell, indicating first-period started – the sound muted and distorted.

He laughed, wondering if this was the edge of sanity.

Then, “Hey, Lee Minho!”

Jisung paled, expecting a wizard with an axe to come by, or even Satan himself, but the person, now waving to him, was Mr. Jang.

Instinctively, his heart beat faster, pounding in his chest, and Jisung wasn’t quite sure why.

“M-Mister Jang-nim! Good morning,” he bowed, remembering Minho was never this over-eager in class, and soundly tried to put himself in place. “Uh – what’s up?”

Mr. Jang eyed him warily, and Jisung wondered if his casual attempting-to-be-ice-cold-and-cool tone came off as disrespectful instead.

Just as he opened his mouth to start a blabbering apology Mr. Jang laughed, his moustache moving in a line like a caterpillar and, mentally, Jisung relaxed.

“Good to see you, Minho, but you’re running a little late,” the teacher smiled and lead him up the stairs. Jisung bowed when the elder man opened the door for him and scurried inside, remembering he was not Han Jisung, but Lee Minho, when he saw his reflection in the shiny tiled floor.

Jesus, _scurrying_ probably wasn’t in Lee Minho’s vocabulary, in both interpretations of the insult.

He bit his lip as Mr. Jang, closed the glass door behind him.

_Think, Jisung, think. How the fuck are you going to survive being Lee Minho if you don’t even know where he’s supposed to be in one minute._

“Mr. Jang, could you please do me a favour?” Jisung asked, his brain chugging like machinery as it formulated a plan.

Mr. Jang frowned for a moment and Jisung stretched the smile on Lee Minho’s face wider – knowing how perfect and white the elder’s teeth were.

“Yes,” Mr. Jang replied, almost robotically and, internally, Jisung whooped for joy.

“Could you please print me my schedule? I lost it last night and uh – I can’t remember all the room numbers and stuff.”

The teacher stood apprehensive, like he was about to refuse; a look Jisung couldn’t quite decipher on his face…

But then he nodded anyway.

“Alright, and I’ll write you a note explaining why you’re running late this morning, Minho,” the man replied with a smile, and beckoned Jisung over to the staffroom. “Wait here.”

Jisung, as Minho, did what he was told; staying directly in place and dipping his head to teachers and faculty members that passed him out of respect. If he were himself right now, he would bow, and even try to start up a pleasant exchange with the teachers that went by, but Minho was probably a psychopath, thus had no empathy, and no will to converse with anyone who didn’t have double-eyelids.

(Wow, Korea’s beauty standards were getting out of hand-) but he didn’t have any more time to dwell, or research a paper for the topic before Mr. Jang came back with two slips of paper between his fingers.

“Here you go,” the man said, sounding a little strained.

With a fake-Minho-grin, he accepted the timetable, scanning it for his first two periods (English and Geography, ugh) and the late-slip that came with it.

“No Ethics today,” Jisung noted and Mr. Jang nodded.

“Yes. How unfortunate.”

Jisung left the man with a bow after a quick goodbye, and once he left the staffroom, started to race towards 57E, a class, where he himself also had English in, and thus he made it there in record time. (And still didn’t break a sweat? What the hell?)

Stopping outside the door, he took a moment to recover his barely-needing-to-be-recovered breath.

_Alright, Han Jisung – no – Lee Minho, let’s do this._

“Sorry, I’m late,” he ambled in with a shallow bow towards the English teacher who just fixed him with a pointed look, and, once seeing the fluoro-yellow signed late slip in his hand, ushered him inside.

“Please be on time tomorrow, Minho.”

Jisung took a moment to realise she was talking to him, before doing a weird cocky-salute-thing he had seen in an American movie with Changbin. “Sure thing.”

With all eyes of the class on him, Jisung internally screamed and hoped that wasn’t as cringy as he thought it was. (But seeing how one of the boys on the soccer team he didn’t recognise just snorted in a very masculine ‘ _bro_ ’ kind of way, it must have had come across as sort of Minho-y.)

A little surer of himself ( _he had seen bad-boy movies, he could play the part of a narcissistic jock!_ ), he slumped down into the closest available seat, before grabbing his not-yellow-but-black backpack and taking out the English Grammar textbook he had fortunately brought.

“ _Minho_ ,” a voice came from his left, darker and somewhat scarier than any other one he had heard that morning, even Mrs. Lee’s yelling, and like a deer-in-headlights, he slowly turned his head towards the noise.

And two tables away from him, at the very back row, with his legs rested on the desk with zero books on it in the way that screamed ‘juvenile delinquent,’ was, Hwang Hyunjin.

Hwang Hyunjin – the junior that had disrespected every teacher that had come his way, even getting two of the worst ones to resign due to his ‘classroom behaviour.’ Hwang Hyunjin – the tough-as-nails kid who had been in every school fight since day one as a freshman. Hwang Hyunjin – the education systems most hated student that had been up for expulsion almost eight times, but his daddy’s money bought him out of it.

Hwang Hyunjin – the soccer team’s goalie. And Lee Minho’s second-in-command.

“Lee, what the fuck are you doing? Sit here,” Hyunjin spat, his eyes dark as he slammed the desk for two, making the boy directly in front of him flinch in his seat.

“Uh -” Jisung started, swallowing down his fear. “Yeah, _homie_ , sure.”

Hyunjin stayed perfectly silent and still, like a snake coiled up, ready to strike, as Jisung moved his belongings over to the other desk, hunching down so the students behind him could see the whiteboard where the teacher was writing down vocabulary.

When he reached the desk, he let out a breath that had been in his chest for what seemed like when he got out of his car.

He scanned the whiteboard, and despite it being words he was supposed to learn next year, Jisung already knew most of the vocabulary from Chan or from his Malaysian school where he pretty much had to speak English to get around.

But, when he returned back to his own body, he was sure that Minho, wherever the hell he was, would appreciate the notes written anyway. So, taking another deep breath, he started to write the words in his best writing possible (which still was sub-par compared to all those bullet-journaling sites he stalked every night for an hour.)

“Hey,” Hyunjin said quietly, thirty minutes into the lesson.

Jisung perked his head up, eyes wide at whatever the rather frightening boy could say, if it was so important to distract him from the lesson.

Hyunjin had a blank look on his face. “Ever call me homie again and you’re dead.”

Jisung’s brain short-circuited, then fizzled out. “S-Sorry-”

Hyunjin just brooded at him for a few more seconds before turning back towards the front, seemingly ignoring Jisung’s attempt at an apology and in just a few words from the elder, all the confidence sapped out of him.

_God, how am I going to survive Hwang Hyunjin for the rest of the day? Or maybe… even tomorrow!_

Jisung ran one of Minho’s hands through his hair again, pausing from his diligent note-taking. Nervously, he peered towards Hyunjin, who was now scribbling in the margins of his notebook that was riddled with math equations, historical dates, but no English vocabulary.

Jisung assumed the boy used only one notebook for all his classes, that is if he was even paying attention.

_Doesn’t he know he’s setting himself up for failure?_ Jisung frowned at the other’s complete lack of attention. _I can’t believe people don’t even try anymore._

The bell went off with a jarring ‘ _ring’_ and Jisung flinched as people started to leave around him, one even giving him a brotherly slap on the back before exiting.

Trying to remain nonchalant, he stood up from his chair and started to neatly pack his books away.

“Training at lunch, right?” Hyunjin asked, shoving his notebook recklessly in his bag, with that same dangerous glint in his eye. Jisung cringed at how the pages of the tattered notebook folded upwards, damaging the cover, but nodded feebly anyway.

Half of him expected Hyunjin to walk out then and there – leave him alone like his demeanour expressed, but the boy paused for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face.

Jisung swallowed nervously when the other’s piercing eyes met his own, then stayed there.

_Oh my god, does he know? Why is he looking at me like that? Is he going to hit me or-_

Then, just like that, in silence, Hyunjin left.

Jisung slumped against the desk, the overwhelming and intimidating presence gone. He took a deep breath, his mind swirling with the complete dangerous intensity of Hwang Hyunjin and glanced at his timetable.

_Geography. Gross._

“Minho? Are you alright?” the teacher asked, and Jisung realised he was the only student left in the room. Thank god – of they saw him being scared of Hyunjin, there would be questions asked that he couldn’t answer.

“Yep!” he chirped, wondering if Lee Minho had ever ‘chirped’ anything before in the seventeen years of his life.

With a bow, he hurried his way out of the room and tried to recover at least one percent of Minho’s popular personality; flashing someone a slick smile who waved at him.

_God, right now I’d be on my way to Advanced Maths,_ Jisung pouted, weaving down the halls of the humanities centre; a place he barely went. Asking someone he’d seen in his physics class for directions, soon enough he found himself at where Minho’s next class was; geography.

_Geography! What a ridiculous subject! What the hell is Minho going to do with a C is geography? Be a taxi driver? Jeez-_

And yet, when the teacher explained the concepts of maps and populations and _biomes,_ Jisung scribbled down the notes anyway.

The hour went past degradingly and excruciatingly slow. It felt like every map he saw, with a basic colour-coded key at the bottom of it picked off each of his braincells one-by-one.

By the time the bell rang Jisung felt like he had de-aged several years: the content was ludicrously simple – to the point the whole subject seemed like a glitch in the system, and yet even if it meant Jisung would get 100% in his tests, he would never chose it. It was just too boring to the point it was all-consuming – stripping away his life, hopes and dreams.

He really wished this nightmare would end soon – he didn’t know if he had the strength within him to endure another geography lesson.

Feeling dead inside, he left the classroom, disappearing into the background as best he could, but of course, unlike himself, Lee Minho was never able to simply ‘fade into a crowd.’

“Hyung!” a deep voice yelled out, and Jisung had barely any time to prepare himself before a body basically threw itself on him.

“Oh!” Jisung squawked out in surprise, turning around the face the boy that so gracelessly attacked him, but when he saw who it was, he could barely stay irritated at the face.

It was the Australian – the one with freckles that Chan had mentioned before.

And the other was looking up at him expectantly like he was waiting for something, an eager smile on his face and brown eyes glimmering.

And Jisung didn’t even know the boy’s name.

“Hey!” he drawled out, plastering a smile on his face and clapping the shorter on the back. “Great… to see you?”

“Yeah, dude!” the other replied, seemingly oblivious to Jisung’s internal struggle. “You up for training?”

“Yeah, man!” Jisung kept walking, wishing he actually understood what the other was saying. Did ‘up’ mean he was excited? Or ready? Or was it some sports terminology he didn’t know – like it was playing ‘up’-the-field which meant offensive right? It’d make sense – Minho was the striker – and from what Chan used to tell him, soccer teams were intricately divided into-

“Hyung? Are you even listening?” the Australian suddenly pouted, stopping them in the hallway.

“Uh-” Jisung stammered, wishing his echoic memory could do him a favour, but it, (like everything in his life), failed him too. “No? I mean – yes?”

The boy rolled his eyes, but the cheery smile stayed on his face. “I was asking if you know what’s up with Coach Kim – been a real dick recently – remember those wind sprints?”

Jisung hummed and pretended he knew who ‘Coach Kim’ was and what a wind sprint seemed to be (nothing enjoyable if it included the word ‘sprint.’)

“Look, I’ve uh – gotta go,” Jisung stammered, pointing towards the hall where his locker was.

The other frowned. “But that’s where my locker is. Aren’t the junior’s lockers near the East Hall?”

Jisung opened his mouth to defend himself, then closed it. Then opened it again. The more he dithered like a fish out of water (which figuratively, he really was) the Australian raised his eyebrows more and more until-

“Felix!” A call came and the pair flinched; looking up at the unexpected call.

“Oh shoot,” Felix pouted, seemingly having forgotten their last interaction and now had his focus turned elsewhere. “My Psych project is due in twenty, I gotta run.”

“O-Okay,” Jisung spluttered out, watching the boy, or Felix as the other had called him, walk away, towards the boy who was frantically waving towards him.

“See you at lunch!” Felix called over his shoulder, flashing him a smile, before disappearing into the crowd.

Jisung sagged against the lockers, relieved that he didn’t quite expose himself yet. Besides, he hadn’t realised it when talking to Felix, but he didn’t even need to get to his own locker – there was nothing there for him, not when he was Lee Minho now.

God, what he was going to do now?

_What does Lee Minho even do anyway? Sit at the centre table in canteen? Wait, I didn’t even bring any lunch with me and Minho won’t be on a scholarship. Why didn’t his Mum remind me this morning?_

Taking one final moment to compose himself, he mindlessly walked towards the cafeteria. Surely the soccer team would be at the table – they were there every day. All he had to do was _be_ Lee Minho. Capture the essence, the cockiness, the ‘glory’ of being to school’s best striker; surely, he could do _that._

Stilling his breath, fighting down his cowardly mind, he stepped into the cafeteria and then-

Something, no, someone grabbed his arm.

“Hey!” Jisung bit out and snapped his head around.

He almost screeched.

Because grasping onto his arm so tightly it could cut off his circulation, was no one other than himself. Han Jisung.

“Holy fuck!” Jisung choked out and the other Han Jisung dragged him down the hall then shoved him into a supply closet.

Jisung watched as his body sneezed at the dust before straightening up with a very un-Jisung-like glare.

“I have asthma.” Jisung said after a moment’s pause, a phantom tickle in the back of his throat. “I-I mean _you_ have asthma, seeing as you are me.”

His other self rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Christ, can you shut the hell up? Why the fuck do you have my body?”

Jisung paused, fighting down the strange feeling that his lungs were tightening up. “Minho? _Lee_ Minho?”

Minho sniffed again. “Yes, obviously idiot, if you look like me. We must have… _swapped bodies_ or something. What the hell did you do?”

Jisung raised his eyebrows, trying to stop thinking about how disconcerting this whole situation was. “W-What did _I_ do?”

“Yes,” Minho snapped, impatient. “What the fuck did you do? A science experiment gone wrong? Did you steal a sample of my hair or something? Why the fuck did I wake up in your _shack_ this morning?!”

“My _shack?_ ” Jisung scoffed, offended. “It’s a house, you dick. _Sorry,_ it doesn’t have marble bedside tables or – or a fucking _ensuite_ or whatever.”

Minho, or himself, or whatever, looked away, his face red. “Whatever. Just give me my life back, yours sucks.”

Jisung thought about punching Lee Minho’s stupid face, but seeing as it was actually his own, he decided again it. “I don’t know what happened either, okay? I am _just_ as lost as you, and trust me, I want to get my own body back too.”

Minho leaned again the dusty shelves before sneezing again and Jisung bit his lip when his lungs felt like collapsing again.

“Maybe this will all be over tomorrow?” he tried, rubbing a hand through his hair, forgetting it’s sleek and soft unlike his own. “Maybe when we wake up tomorrow everything will be back to normal?”

His words lingered in the air and don’t seem to convince Minho, nor himself for that matter.

“Dunno,” Minho sighed and pinched his brow. “Jesus, fuck, it’s so weird to see _me_ right in front of me.”

Jisung nodded and clenched his jaw. “Yeah, same.”

They stood in silence together for a few moments, so starkly different to their bitter feuds and debates in Ethics, but for once in their whole lives, it seemed they had something in common.

The bell for third period rang.

“If for some reason tomorrow we’re not back to normal,” Minho started, his eyes sharp. “We need a plan.”

Jisung jerkily nodded, wondering if this was the first time he’d ever agreed with Lee Minho before. “Okay, meet after school at mine.”

Minho furrowed his brows. “My parents don’t allow guests on weekdays.”

Jisung sighed in frustration. “ _No,_ at _mine,_ God this is confusing. Okay let’s just call each other by our real names okay? I’m Jisung even though I look like you, and you’re Minho. Simple as that.”

Minho just shrugged, uncaring. “Fine. Makes sense, I guess.”

“Okay,” Jisung grumbled out, exasperated by the elder’s nonchalance and reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” Minho chided, harshly slapping his hand away.

Jisung opened his mouth, ready to complain and protest against the other’s absurd actions but Minho just put his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“H-Hey!” Jisung stammered out, reaching out for the familiar device with his timetable screensaver, but Minho just spun around. “That’s my phone!”

“Actually,” Minho opened the contacts app. “It’s mine, because _I_ am _you_ , Han Jisung.”

Jisung stared at the other, mouth agape. “How the hell do you know my password? Did you stalk me?”

Minho scoffed, shoving the phone back into his slacks. “Get over yourself, I didn’t stalk you. I gave it to your friend, the short one, Changmin or something and watched what he entered.”

“Chang _bin!_ ” Jisung automatically corrected, then flushed red. “Wait, you know my password is ‘ _stan-waifu-sakura’_?”

Minho hummed patronisingly. “Yeah, who the fuck has a lettered-password these days? Just get a phone with facial recognition and save yourself the time and embarrassment.”

Cheeks burning, Jisung shoved his hands into his own pockets to find Minho’s sleek, newest-edition phone, deciding he’s not close enough to the other to tell him the story of how Chan changed his password to that as a _joke_ after all three of them finished watching Naruto last summer. “ _Whatever,_ what is your password anyway?”

Minho looked at him like he said the stupidest thing in the world. “I just told you – there _is_ no password. Use your face for it, and your brain next time you speak to me.”

Jisung bit back his fiery insults about how he had Lee Minho’s brain, but the other just opened the closet door and walked into the empty hallway.

“Meet at the East gate at four, don’t be late,” Minho brushed past him with a jaded tone. “ _Surely,_ you’ve figured out how to call me if you need to, right? Just enter in _your_ phone number and hit the green button.”

Jisung clenched his fist, the back of his neck prickling with each condescending word.

“And hey-” Minho’s growled call made Jisung snap out of his darkening thoughts.

The elder boy leaned in, close to his ear.

“-Don’t make me look like a _pussy,_ alright?”

Then, with a smug huff, the boy, walked away.

Jisung stood his ground until the other left around the corner, then let himself crumble into the locker near. Even though technically, in Minho’s body he was taller than Minho who was in _his_ body, the boy seemed to have the effect of superiority over him.

And Jisung hated it.

_What a dick! Thinking he’s so much better than me because his dumb, rich-ass phone has facial recognition and mine doesn’t!_ he stormed to his next class, Maths Essentials, almost slamming open the door if it wasn’t for his ingrained respect for teachers.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he mumbled and slumped into a seat in the back row.

The teacher shot him a smile and he forced one back before resting his head on the desk. How had that last conversation gone so wrong? How did Lee Minho manage to irritate him like no other human being ever before?  
  


Why, of all people, did he have to switch bodies and lives with Lee-fucking-Minho!?!

The rest of the classes were insufferable, but at least Math was easy and fun. Going between lessons he spotted Changbin and instinctively waved. Changbin had just frowned and stared until they were both swept up by the crowd.

Lunch came up faster than he thought and when Hyunjin threw him a spare sports uniform with a scary glare, Jisung was severely regretting his whole existence.

_I don’t even know how to play soccer!_ He thought, shakily putting his shin-guards (whatever the fuck those were) into his soccer socks, copying how Felix did it.

He barely listened to the ‘whoop’ sounds from the soccer team as they started getting ready for training, and Jisung felt his mind spiral with the increasing noise.

_I can’t play! I’ve always been shit as sports – what is everyone going to say? Going to think? I’m supposed to be Lee Minho, captain of the team and yet I can’t even kick a ball in a straight line!_

“Hyung, you okay?”

Jisung whipped his head up to where a lanky, red-haired boy with braces was standing and realised he had never seen this boy sitting with the team before.

“Um, yes,” he choked out, plastering on a smile. “I’m good, just uh – tired.”

“Jeongin!” a voice called out, and both Jisung and the red-head turned to look at Hyunjin who was now staring impatiently at them. “Get the team’s water-bottles, okay?”

Jisung bit his lip, frustration at how dismissively and unfairly _harsh_ Hyunjin was treating the obviously younger boy, but Jeongin just lit up with a grin.

“Yep, Hyungie!” he cheered and raced out of the changing room, his spiked shoots tip-tapping on the concrete floor as he left.

“You’re so cute with him,” Jisung heard Felix gently tease and he stilled when Hyunjin didn’t answer immediately.

Warily, he glanced up from tying his shoelaces to gage the younger’s expression and found what he expected - Hyunjin’s eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a firm line.

And yet, rather than being intimidated, Felix just laughed and went back to his stretches.

_What the fuck is going on?_

“Hey! Coach Kim said to hurry up or he’s leaving!” Jeongin ambled back in and at once, like _he_ was, in fact, the captain, everyone started jovially filing out of the change room.

“You ready? I bet he’ll make us do drills,” Felix brushed up beside him and Jisung felt like he was about to faint. He had seen the soccer team do practices and it looked like hell.

“D-Damn,” Jisung stuttered, and rubbed his chest, expecting the familiar anxiety-driven shortness of breath that never came. “Can’t wait.”

Felix just nodded as they walked onto the bright green soccer field and Jisung took that as his note to shut up. He narrowed his eyes at the tall shadowy authority-oozing figure standing beside the goalposts and bit the inside of his cheek.

He didn’t know much about Coach Kim – anything that wasn’t the word of tongue. But what had been said wasn’t pretty.

“Line up,” Coach Kim ordered when the team of eleven, plus ten others Jisung guessed were substitutes arrived at his feet.

Everyone was quiet, submissive even, at the man’s words, and Jisung paled at the prospect that one man could tame the wild pack of idiots he was unfortunately placed with. Taking the silence as a chance to quickly observe the man, Jisung meekly lifted his head.

Coach Kim was young; younger than Jisung thought he was, and also fairly attractive in a very manly way. He had a strong build, covered by professional-looking sports attire that somehow looked cool rather than try-hard or fake.

But his eyes, his eyes were sharp, dark even; merciless. If looks could kill, Jisung would have been dead before he stepped onto the pitch.

“The first round of competition is coming up next month,” Coach Kim gruffly started and clapped his hands together with a rather menacing _‘bang.’_ “Now I don’t care if all this is to you is a ‘school round-robin,’ but these next few months will determine your future.”

He straightened up, peering Jisung directly in the eye. “Especially you juniors. If you’re not scouted this year for a big team, you go to the under twenties category instead of under eighteens. If you even make it there.”

Jisung swallowed; relief trickling through him when the elder man looked away. God was this what soccer really was? He just thought it was a stupid sport – not this whole ‘these games will determine your future’ bullshit.

Whatever – it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. He couldn’t play soccer and that’s what the team and Minho would have to deal with.

“Minho,” the coach cut through his thoughts with a piercing tone. “Have any words?”

Jisung paled. _Oh fuck._

Feeling twenty-one gazes on him, he cleared his throat with a pitiful _‘ahem’_ hoping it would inspire a speech.

It didn’t.

Coach Kim eyed him, his hands clasped tightly, and Jisung felt his mind blank when Felix encouragingly elbowed him in the side.

Fuck – shit – words were his thing! Why the hell was his brain failing him now?

“No?” Coach Kim poked, his words almost scalding.

Jisung heard Felix suck in a breath from beside him, the rest of the team deadly silent. Feebly, Jisung shook his head.

“Fine,” Coach Kim, looked away, addressing the rest of the boys. “Everyone! Five laps around the field and if you fall behind it’s fifty push-ups. Go!”

Legs like jelly, Jisung started to follow the herd wordlessly jogging to the side of the field, but at once a hand grasped his bicep, stopping him in his tracks.

“Lee,” Hyunjin muttered, his eyes dark.

Jisung tensed when the boy leaned in closer till his breath felt hot on his ear and remembering Minho’s words tried his hardest not to look like a ‘pussy.’

“Yeah?”

Hyunjin’s eyes searched his own, the grasp tightening for a second, then vanishing completely.

“Think of something to say next time.”

And with that, Hyunjin ran off to join the rest of the team.

Jisung stood still in his place. The hairs on the nape of his neck prickling, he spun around, just to see Coach Kim’s watchful gaze, and an unimpressed raised eyebrow.

And so, he started to run.

Two laps in he caught up with the rest of the team, his (Minho’s?) long legs seemingly helpful for something (and no, Jisung did _not_ wish his own body’s legs were a little longer) and thought that maybe running wasn’t _too_ bad.

But then, like Felix had warned, they started the drills. Suicide sprints, figure-eight dodging, burpees, five-minute plank, it was all there.

_Jesus, fuck –_ Jisung thought, swiping back his hair that had started to fall into his eyes. _How the hell am I not dying yet? Usually, I’d be out of breath after one lap of the field and yet I’ve done all this other running shit and I’m only just breaking a sweat._

He frowned but obeyed when Coach Kim called them back and said something about ‘penalty shootouts’ whatever that was.

_After all these exercises my asthma would be acting up by now… but… I’m not Jisung anymore, I’m Lee Minho. And Lee Minho doesn’t have asthma, nor would he get as tired as I would…_

“You wanna go before or after me?” Jeongin asked suddenly and Jisung snapped out of his thoughts, his throat drying up when he saw everyone moving towards the centre of the field.

“Uh – after,” Jisung stammered, wishing he could turn back time and pay attention to Coach Kim’s instructions. He took a deep breath as he tapered somewhere in the middle of the forming line, observing the first person’s, Felix’s, movements carefully.

Coach Kim passed the boy a ball, and Felix cleanly stopped it and somehow rolled it onto the line at the same time.

Jisung tore his eyes away from the Australian to the goal, or more specifically the person standing in-between the posts. Hyunjin. With thick neon orange padded gloves on his hands and a wide, but light stance, ready to stop the incoming ball.

Oh shit. _This_ was what they called a penalty shootout; Chan had tried to explain it to him and Changbin once.

All he knew was that it looked terrifying. And in a few minutes, _he’d_ have to give it a go. In front of everyone, including both equally intimidating Hwang Hyunjin and Coach Kim.

When he had never played soccer in his whole life.

How the fuck had his life come to this?

There was a boisterous ‘manly’ cheer that Jisung had always hated the sound of and when he looked up, he saw that Felix had scored the goal.

“Not bad for defence,” Hyunjin grumbled loudly, throwing the ball back at Felix who squeaked, before only just catching it.

“Roll it, Hyunjin!” Coach Kim’s stern yell came from the left and Hyunjin’s just nodded with a sigh.

Jisung watched as the people before him kicked the ball either into the net, or Hyunjin’s hands, the latter more often than not.

Soon enough it was Jeongin’s go, and Jisung cringed when the ball went straight to the goalie’s hands.

“Good try,” he offered, and Jeongin just warm-naturedly laughed.

“Nah, that was shocking,” he pouted, his eyes twinkling with quiet mirth. “At least we have our number one scorer up next, huh?”

There was a cheer from the back of the line and Jisung smiled weakly when someone clapped him on the back. _I’m the team’s number one scorer? Great. Fun. Cool, cool, cool, let’s just somehow nail this and then I won’t be exposed and everything will be fine!_

A ball fell directly into his feet.

Looking up from his neon soccer boots he stared at Hyunjin, who was already in a defensive stance, face wrinkled with sharp concentration.

There was another ‘whoop’ of support and Jisung sucked in a steadying breath.

_Alright – you can do this. If it’s about ten meters to the goal, and you kick the ball from a standstill position as hard as you can, it should equal around-_

“Minho!” came Coach Kim’s firm yell, and so, without time for one more worry, Jisung closed his eyes. And kicked.

There was a cheer from behind him, and carefully he opened his eyes.

The ball. It was in the net.

Like behind Hyunjin.

_What the fuck?_   
  


“Hyung! How the hell did you get that curve?” Jeongin jumped onto his shoulders and Jisung stumbled back, not knowing how himself.

The rest of the soccer team congratulated him, saying things like ‘it curved into the top corner’ while Jisung just looked on, like he was an outsider (which, to be fair, he was.)

The rest of the training went unexpectedly smoothly. Whenever he was passed the ball, he made a skilful kick to another player, or even into the goal, without actually having to think about it at all.

His body, or Minho’s body, moved without guidance like it was some strange sort of muscle memory even though Jisung’s brain had no clue what was going on, or how to curve the ball or anything.

The practice left him astounded.

Because even though he had never played soccer in his whole life, he was making professional-like plays like it was second nature.

“I was zooming around the field!” he recounted to Minho animatedly as they walked to the Han household after school. “It was _crazy!_ I was always shit at sports because of my asthma but now-”

When he realised who he was talking to, he snapped his mouth shut. Right – this wasn’t Chan or Changbin, this was Lee Minho. Popular-pompous-privileged-prick soccer team captain Lee Minho. Not his friend. The person he despised most.

“As you were saying?” Minho prodded after a few moments of silence, an amused rather than arrogant expression in his face.

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek, scuffing his shoes on the concrete. “Nothing. The soccer team’s weird.”

Minho quirked an eyebrow and Jisung was one again bewildered at how the had switched bodies, and this he was seeing his own face looking back at him.

“It’s just like any soccer team,” Minho said matter-of-factly and Jisung frowned.

_Yeah, and that’s why it sucks,_ is what he wanted to reply, but instead, very-unlike his usual self, he said nothing. Minho looked… content. Odd in the situation they had found themselves in, and for a second Jisung panicked that Minho somehow was a shapeshifter and would steal his body to commit crimes like in a manga he had once read.

But no, Minho was a dumb dickhead, not a body-stealing, bank-robbing criminal. (At least, he hoped. After all they hadn’t really talked that much before outside of arguing in Ethics class.)

“We have Ethics on Friday,” Jisung noted, not knowing what else to say.

Minho shifted in his walking pace. “Yeah should be fun – I get to argue ridiculous points and plummet _your_ grade.”

Jisung gasped. “You wouldn’t! If you do, I’ll – I’ll streak naked across the soccer field and ruin your reputation!”

Minho laughed. “Do it then. The teachers will love it.”

Jisung gagged at the other’s words and forced the most disgusted look onto his face. “Jesus, Minho, is all you think about how to seduce girls, no, our teachers?”

The elder just shrugged and turned the corner into the street. They walked the rest of the way to the ‘shack’ as Minho had rudely called it, in mutual silence, Jisung still trying to process why the other’s mind would jump to such a strange extreme.

_I’ll have to research it,_ he concluded, getting lost in his thoughts before an elbow jamming into his ribcage made his startle.

“Home, sweet home,” Minho drawled out and Jisung looked up.

The house. _His_ house. God, he never thought he would miss the place so much.

“It looks the same!” He squealed when Minho unlocked the door with _his key_ and walked into the small kitchen.

“Of course, it does, idiot,” Minho just sniffed and threw his bag on the floor.

“Hey!” Jisung snapped, grabbing the bag and shoving it into Minho’s chest. “Put your shit away, not on the floor! My mum doesn’t need you being a dick!”

“Geez,” Minho exclaimed, setting the bag on the table. “Let a man eat! I’m starving after that shitty canteen food.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows. “What, you _actually ate_ the scholarship lunch?”

Minho grabbed a slightly expired yogurt out of the fridge, sniffed it, then shovelled a spoonful into his mouth. “Yeah, I was hungry. I have a fast metabolism.”

“You have _my_ metabolism, which is slow as shit,” Jisung pointed out. “Still I’m surprised you ate lunch – ‘thought you’d only eat stuff if it was fed to you on a gold platter and a silver spoon.”

Minho scowled and finished the snack in one last mouthful. “Whatever.”

Jisung sighed, running his hand over the cheap faux-marble counter. “Well, let’s deal with this… thing. We should write down our important information and passwords so we can at least survive in each other’s bodies until this is… all over.”

Minho nodded, swinging his backpack over his shoulder with a nod, already making his way down the narrow hallway. Jisung gingerly followed, not sure if he was feeling like a stranger in his own home, or defensive that Minho might make a snarky remark about the less-than-standard state of it.

“Hey,” he started when they reached the bedroom, Jisung sinking his feet into the purple fuzzy rug. “How did you know your way here?”

“Looked it up in biology,” Minho held up the phone and jumped onto the bed, wincing at the way it creaked.

“I don’t do biology.”

“Oh – well your last period class then. Whatever boring-shit it was.”

Jisung gaped at then elder’s dismissive attitude. “You didn’t take notes? I need those for when we switch back otherwise I’ll be behind!”

Minho shifted on the bed, sitting there like he owned the place. “So? Not my problem.”

“I – I’m taking _your_ notes!” Jisung tried again, horrified at the possible prospect of his grades he had worked so hard for going down the toilet.

Minho shrugged and grabbed Jisung’s out-dated laptop from his backpack. “Didn’t ask you to.”

Frustration flickered through him like a flame down an oil spill, but Jisung forced his mouth closed. Okay, fine, Minho wasn’t taking his notes, but at least he was ahead in majority of his classes anyway.

They’d probably find a way to revert back to their own bodies before the curriculum caught up with his studying anyway.

“What’s your password?” Minho asked from the bed.

Jisung slumped onto his desk, mournfully spotting the places where he, Chan and Changbin had etched their names into the wood. “Three-racha.”

“What?”

“Three-Racha,” Jisung repeated, staring down at the nostalgic carvings. “Number three, then, all capital letters, R-A-C-H-A.”

Jisung heard the gentle taps of fingers hitting keys and Minho’s tired-sounding sigh. “I won’t remember the English part. I’m changing it.”

Jisung just let the other do as he pleased and wrote out information and facts about himself that seemed vital enough for Minho to know. Maybe this all really was a dream. That would explain the amazing-soccer-skills and whole body-switch easily. Hopefully, he pinched himself until the pale skin he still wasn’t accustomed to, turned red.

“Ow!” Minho exclaimed, and Jisung snapped his head towards the elder, baffled.

But the elder was just looking at the computer like nothing had happened.

_What the hell?_

“Hey,” Minho’s goading voice came from across the room, full of evil delight and Jisung quickly sat up. “What the _fuck_ is up with your search history?”

Jisung tried to remember what he could have been doing that made the elder so amused. Then he paled. Two nights ago, he had been watching-

“W-What the hell?! C-Close it!” Jisung stammered, racing across the room and slamming his laptop shut.

But the damage had already been done. Minho was rolling in the bed in cackled laughter.

“Bro!” he spluttered after he had half-recovered. “Do you have a hentai addiction or something? The fuck-!”

“S-Stop!” Jisung hugged his laptop close to his chest, completely mortified. “I – I mean, I bet _you_ watch porn, you fucking-” (he paused to think on an insult) “-you fucking dick!”

(Okay, admittedly not his best work.)

Minho just snickered again, looking completely smug and satisfied with his newfound blackmail-worthy material. “Yeah, but I’m not a creep into _this weird shit_ like you! At least have the decency to use _incognito-_ ”

“Whatever!” Jisung snapped, willing his heart to calm down. “Let it go, okay? Maybe we should just switch laptops.”

“That would never work – I can’t let anyone see me walking around with that brick of junk at school,” Minho nodded towards the laptop. “Besides, my parents would freak if you went in with that shit; they’d probably donate it to a museum as an ancient artefact.”

Jisung scowled, his blood starting to boil out of slow-building anger rather than embarrassment. One more poor joke and he’d-

The sharp ring of Minho’s, or his, now, phone made both boys pause.

Jisung waited as it rang again, hesitant to answer the person on the other side.

But Minho seemed to have a different idea. “Answer it, idiot, it could be important.”

Feeling a lump form in his throat, Jisung fished the sleek device out of his pocket, answered it and put it on speaker.

“H-Hello?”

“Where are you, Minho?” a gruff, deep voice came across the lone, soundly slightly peeved.

“At a friend’s house, I’ll be home in half an hour” Minho answered quickly and Jisung cringed.

Minho was not Minho anymore. And that meant he didn’t have his own voice. He had Jisung’s.

And the person, assumedly Minho’s father, noticed it too.

“Who is that? Minho, answer me now.”

“Uh, y-yeah,” Jisung stuttered into the line, his heart sinking at the veiled irritation in the man’s voice. “Sorry, I’m here, and yeah – I can get home.”

Minho motioned something with his hands frantically and Jisung frowned, trying to figure out what the elder was miming.

But it was too late because the man just sighed. “Send me the address immediately. You should know better than going off without telling your mother.”

Jisung swallowed, unsure why his body suddenly felt tense. “Yeah, uh – sorry.”

The man didn’t reply before hanging up.

Jisung put the phone on his desk with a groan. “God, that went shit! Your dad sounds scary!”

Minho just turned to him exasperatedly. “Yeah well you forgot to tell my Mum you weren’t coming home!”

Jisung scoffed. “Oh great, blame _me_ then, for _you_ not telling me I had to do that! I don’t know your _parents!”_

Minho turned away, rubbing his jaw. “Well, what are you waiting for? Send him the address unless somehow you’ve forgotten that too.”

“I haven’t!” Jisung bit back, fumbling to type in his address to send on the unfamiliar keyboard. Bleakly, he hit ‘send.’ Now he had made a bad first-impression on Minho’s father, and _he_ had to deal with the consequences of Minho’s mistakes.

Jisung watched as Minho seemingly finished his list and ripped out a piece of paper from his notebook. “Here. My information; from my birthday to the house security password.”

Jisung snatched the paper and shoved it into his pocket. “Here’s mine; with the time my Mum comes home each night and the weekly budget.”

Jisung turned away before he could see Minho’s expression (probably of privileged dismay) at the mention of a budgeting system.

“My dad will be here soon, he works on this side of town,” Minho said quietly, slumping back onto Jisung’s bed with a groan. “Take whatever you want out of this room, favourite hoodie or whatever.”

Jisung perked up at Minho’s rather… altruistic gesture. He hadn’t even thought about keeping some of his own items to make Minho’s marble mansion slightly more comforting.

“Sure,” he replied, strained, still irritated at the elder’s rude jokes from earlier. “Take notes for me tomorrow.”

Minho paused. “If I feel like it.”

He threw his laptop on the bed. “Don’t go through my stuff.”

Jisung rolled his eyes and grabbed some of his belongings, including the hoodie he stole from Chan that would certainly fit his now larger frame, his notebook where he wrote some _confidential_ things, some of his own underwear he hoped would also fit (the image from that morning flashed in his mind when he picked up his comfiest boxers and made his cheeks tint red) and finally his math club worksheets.

The honk of a horn sounded from outside, and feeling slightly awkward, Jisung turned to Minho with a wave.

“See you tomorrow,” he offered weakly, fiddling with Chan’s hoodie strings.

Minho didn’t look up from the paper he was holding. “Okay, bye.”

And as Jisung walked out of the house, his home, and into a different expensive car with the same stilted atmosphere and wondered how his life got so absolutely insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know it's only two weeks after the first one, but from now on updates will /actually/ be slow. About to start up my last few months of high school, so I should start to get a little more serious. (eek!)
> 
> Don't have much to say - but how do you like the story so far? Do you like the portrayals of Jisung and Minho? What do you think will happen next? What about the other members? 
> 
> Hyunjin is a junior with Minho in this fic, because I accidentally screwed up his age and then didn't want to change it lol. 
> 
> Also, you probably have noticed Coach Kim is Woojin. I don't want to get too into it because I know there's a big divide over whether he should be in SKZ fanfiction or not seeing as now he isn't a part of the group anymore, so to still 'include-him-but-not-fully-include-him' I made him the coach. I mean, IDK what interesting things he could do as a senior? Like at first he was going to be Chan's partner to add another level to the one-sided Changbin/Chan situation, but honestly, I wanted to give him a bigger and more interesting role than that, hence I made him the tough-loving, scary coach. I hope you enjoy this portrayal as much as I enjoy writing it!
> 
> Leave a comment with your answers! Also if you bookmark this, leave a 'bookmarkers tag' - I love reading them! It's like I get to see how you guys view the story in just a few sentences.
> 
> STAY safe and I hope to see you all again next chapter! (Probs 3 weeks time??)
> 
> Sincerely, 
> 
> Talic


	3. In Which a Secret is Kept, and a Secret is Told

Jisung dragged his feet into the near-school café tiredly, slumping into one of the open two-seater tables. Minho plopped down across from him and grabbed a menu, looking just as dead as Jisung was feeling.

Jisung sniffed and rested his head in his hands, the smell of expensive coffees and sandalwood filling his nose. With a quiet groan he picked up his head off the table and stared blearily at Lee Minho, who was, still in _his_ body, and now scanning the menu.

“Want anything?” Minho asked, not looking up.

Jisung straightened himself up to check the prices, internally dying when he saw the way overpriced coffee. “Nah.”

Minho shrugged and called over a server, ordering a huge vanilla milkshake for himself with a sickly-sweet smile.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to Jisung when the red-faced waitress left. “Let’s get down the business. You have the schedule?”

Jisung nodded, his stomach growling as he dug around in his bag and pulled out a slightly crinkled piece of paper.

It was Thursday afternoon, and he was tired, hungry and grumpy after another long day of being Lee Minho. His prayers for the whole body-swap thing to only last a day hadn’t been answered, and with the revelation that maybe this could go on for another week, maybe two, they both decided to write up an in-depth schedule of what they would usually be doing each week.

“There’s soccer every day!?” Jisung spluttered, eyeing the typed-up timetable in shock.

“Yeah,” Minho sniffed, looking mildly displeased at the state of Jisung’s paper. “Did you really have to get… food on this?”

Jisung frowned, snatching the lists he had made instead of listening in English back. “There’s no food on it! It’s just a little crumpled. Those stains must be from your oily-ass hands!”

“So _your_ ‘oily-ass hands’ which means _you_ are the reason it’s dirty,” Minho snapped, leaning back with a smirk on his face when the waiter set down his drink before dropping his façade when she left.

“Whatever,” Jisung grumbled, tossing it back. He scanned Minho’s schedule insecurely. Minho had typed his up, using perfectly spaced and divided columns to firstly organise the table, then different colours to code each event.

All he had done was scribble a list down of his usual day. And now, feeling somewhat bad at Minho’s obvious discomfort towards the state of his schedule, he wished he had tried a little harder to make and maintain the piece of paper.

But, of course, his guilt didn’t last for long. It was Minho’s condescending tone that put an end to it.

“Do you seriously write this messily in your notebooks?” he sipped on his milkshake, his eyes mocking. “Because if you do, don’t write in mine. I won’t be able to read it.”

Jisung glared at the elder, clenching his jaw. “Fine, I won’t take notes and you can fail all your classes then. Like I give a shit.”

Minho set down his tall glass with a shrug and Jisung glowered at it in discontent. Who the fuck ordered a plain vanilla milkshake? Especially at this price! Lee Minho really was a dick for selfishly flaunting his money around when Jisung was starving and couldn’t even afford the cheapest thing on the menu.

God, he hated Lee Minho.

But guess what – he _was_ Lee Minho. So, he had to deal with it.

He looked over the neat timetable one more time. And then he noticed something odd.

“Minho you forgot to fill in Saturday afternoon.”

The elder didn’t even look up. “Hm?”

Jisung exhaled through his nose. “Saturday afternoon. Twelve to four. Why isn’t it filled in?”

Lazily, the elder stared quizzically at the paper from his side of the table, seeming to try and remember something.

“Ah right,” he said, clicking his fingers after a few moments. “I wanted to leave it up to you.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows, bewildered. Minho looked away. And that was how Jisung knew he was lying.

“Are you joking? We went over this, Minho. Every hour has to be filled! I need to _be you_ for however long this thing lasts for, and I can’t do that unless you’re one-hundred percent _honest_ with me.”

That seemed to get Minho’s attention. “Hey, I _am_ being honest here, alright? Stop being a little bitch – I don’t do anything on Saturday afternoons, and I didn’t want to dictate every minute of your life, so leave it.”

Jisung held the elder’s gaze for another second, before he gave up, tucking the paper into his backpack. If Minho was going to be a dick, that was his problem.

Yet the thinly veiled irritation at the soccer player's secrecy. They had swapped bodies and lives! If Minho couldn’t tell him one thing about himself, even if it was embarrassing or not, Jisung couldn’t tell how much he was supposed to be able to trust the other.

“Look,” he started, attempting to rein in his frustration. “With this whole body-thing, I’ve come to one conclusion.”

Lee Minho picked up his milkshake and slurped it loudly with a cockily quirked eyebrow.

“I think I have all of your physical skills,” he continued, swallowing down how ridiculous his hypothesis sounded. “Because I sure as hell can’t play soccer, and yet, when I closed my eyes and kicked the ball, it went in top corner with no problems.”

Minho nodded, seemingly turning slightly more serious and sniffed. “Well, that is my signature shot – curling it in the top right corner. You could be onto something.”

Jisung paused. “It would make sense if we both had each other’s physical strengths and weaknesses, like how I can actually run down the hall and not get winded and you can… you can have my asthma.”

Minho snorted and Jisung almost smiled at how unexpected the sound was.

“Great. Asthma. My favourite,” the elder took another sip of his sugary beverage before placing it on the table. “I guess that would also mean that despite getting your shitty body-” (Jisung forced himself not to take offence because it was somewhat true) “-I didn’t get your brain.”

Jisung frowned, thoughtfully. Although what the other said seemed extremely obvious, Jisung had switched into Minho’s body and thus with it, had Minho’s physical brain shape and structure – elements that were impacted by experience and learning only. If they still had their own personalities, intellectual capabilities and memories how had they physically had each other’s brain?

“Must have been our consciousnesses that switched over,” Jisung hummed, and Minho was quiet.

Jisung peeked up at the elder and Minho looked like he wanted to say something – his face looking older than it had just moments ago, but the expression left as quickly as he came.

Instead, he simply said, “Looks like taking each other’s tests are going to be hard.”

Jisung bit his lip. He hadn’t thought of that. If worst came to worst and they didn’t get this figured out in a few weeks’ time, Minho would be sitting _his_ tests. The tests that could be used to potentially determine his future.

If he failed any subject with no good ‘grounds for reason,’ he’d lose his scholarship, and he was pretty sure ‘I-swapped-bodies-with-someone’ wasn’t going to fly very well at all. Who knew, he might get sent to a mental institution if he started spreading that around.

“Well let’s just hope we get our own bodies back before that happens,” Jisung answered, trying to remain optimistic. Truth was, Minho taking his tests would really not be good.

Unlike himself, Minho wasn’t known for his intelligence. Minho was known for his looks, for how much he could drink without throwing up, for his soccer plays, and his player-attitude. Minho was known for being a bit of an idiot sometimes, and Jisung didn’t need rumours to know it was true.

Minho seemed to notice Jisung’s reticence and got out Jisung’s phone for a few minutes before putting it away. They sat together awkwardly while Minho finished his milkshake and tipped the waitress rather generously when she came around to pick up the glass.

“How are you getting back to mine, uh – yours?” Jisung asked when they left, noting that the café was on the good side of town and his house was not.

“I’ll walk,” Minho shrugged, something that the elder seemed to do quite frequently and turned away to the opposite direction. “See you ‘round.”

Jisung didn’t have time to formulate a response before Minho had left. Not knowing what to feel, he watched as Minho walked away with the backpack Changbin had bought his as a birthday gift two years ago resting carelessly on his shoulder.

Jisung sighed and looked away, starting his quick journey to the Lee’s mansion.

And for one last time, he prayed to the Gods to wake him up from this nightmare, as he walked to the big, cold, cream manor that felt like the last thing from home.

It seemed like not even Chan’s green hoodie could comfort him as he sat out of place as a stranger at Lee Minho’s marble desk.

He smoothed his hands over the expanse of the cold surface, his palms tingling at the cold. He had never had a desk as big as this before. His one at home was half the size and constantly cluttered with all his textbooks and worksheets and pencils.

But this one, it was good. Not welcoming, not nostalgic, but good. With storage space in slim drawers and a soft leather chair that wasn’t broken, Jisung had to admit it was close to his dream desk.

God, Minho’s life was literally perfect. And the boy didn’t even appreciate it at all.

“Minho! Come get dinner!” a voice called and Jisung turned away from the beautiful desk and took a deep breath.

Okay, first dinner with the family. No stress – just be Lee Minho, said mother and father’s only child, and not expose himself. Cool. Fun. Honestly, Jisung would choose to do this every weekend.

And hey – if the Lee’s were anything like his mother, this would be fine.

Turns out, as he awkwardly cut into his American overpriced medium-rare steak, the Lee’s were nothing like his mother. And he had no idea what to do.

Jisung eyed Mrs. Lee. She was a tall woman, skinny frame, dressed elegantly in an expensive dress with two fine diamond earrings in. She used the unfamiliar knife and fork delicately, having a small serving of the rather delicious red meat and a larger serving of beans, onion and sweet potato. She had an intimidating air of superiority hanging around her – no doubt where Minho had gotten his own cocky attitude from.

However, the mother wasn’t arrogant – Jisung could see that from first glance. Refined was a perfect word. But still… slightly chilling.

Mr. Lee, Minho’s father, was quite the opposite, and Jisung disliked it even more. He was gruff, loud, and large - dressed in a suit that radiated wealth with a tie the colour of aged fine wine. He looked somewhere between a billionaire and a thug, despite the aromatic cologne he wore that Jisung was sure cost more than Chan’s car, and the matching gold cufflinks.

Mrs. Lee was chilling, a quiet terrifying. Mr. Lee was more… direct.

“How are your grades?” he asked curtly his eyes piercing, to break the silence.

Jisung swallowed uncomfortably. _Do some parents really ask so… straight-forwardly like that?_

“Okay,” Jisung bit his lip, wishing he had looked at Minho’s report before sitting down. “I’m uh – top of the class for Ethics.”

“Don’t stutter,” a cold but caring(?) voice came across the table and guiltily, Jisung spun around to meet Mrs. Lee’s unyielding eyes. “It makes you sound like a fool.”

Welp, that wasn’t a concerned-sounding thing to say at all.

“Yes,” Jisung attempted, trying to force himself to sound composed and somewhat regal. “I apologise.”

“And mathematics?” Mr. Lee probed, thankfully moving the conversation along.

Jisung almost instinctually rambled about his feud with Seungmin but managed to shut his mouth at the last moment.

“It’s…” he drawled out, feeling panic settle into his lungs. _Oh fuck. I have no clue what Minho’s math grade is!_

“Not going well?” Mrs. Lee asked slyly, like his alarm was what she was expecting.

Jisung reddened and that was answer enough.

“I will organise a tutor for you then,” Mr. Lee said, sounding vaguely disappointed. “You cannot be falling behind, hear me boy?”

Jisung just nodded, wishing this humiliating dinner could be over with.

“Soccer is going well, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Mr. Lee replied, cutting into his steak. “I expect great results when the competition starts, understand? Otherwise I will pull you out of the team so you can place all your focus towards academics.”

Jisung dipped his head soundlessly. That was… a little harsh. But then again, Minho didn’t work hard in school at all; ditching and joking around in classes – it was a waste of time and money.

And that wasn’t something Jisung could forgive so easily.

“If you are finished, go upstairs, Miss Jae will take your plate,” Mrs. Lee said, and Jisung almost jumped when a woman, late fifties and dressed in white and black clothing appeared at his side.

He bowed to her once as she took his dishes and dipped his head awkwardly to ‘his’ parents.

“I’m going to go and uh… study,” he stammered and flushed at Mrs. Lee’s critical gaze, before disappearing around the hall.

_God, I don’t think that could have gotten any worse,_ he threw himself onto his bed when he reached the solace of his private bedroom.

He shivered. Lee Minho’s parents were certainly… something. And although he prided himself on his positive outlook towards people, he definitely got bad vibes from the both of them.

Especially Mr. Lee…

But the man hadn’t done anything necessarily _wrong._ Just… gave his opinions.

Jisung decided he’d give the man another chance in the morning.

Remembering the larger problem at hand, Jisung grabbed Minho’s laptop from his bag (holding it delicately and firmly at the same time, in hopes he wouldn’t do something idiotic and break it) and opened it up.

He typed in the password Minho had provided yesterday _(‘Soongie’? What the hell did that mean?)_ and clicked open the school website, scrolling down the page for the most recent report.

The mouse hovered over the ‘open’ button. Was this an invasion of privacy? (Seeing as he literally had to shower this morning however in Minho’s very… _defined_ body however, he decided checking the elder’s grades weren’t that bad after all.)

The page loaded quickly, and honestly, Jisung wished it was slower, so he had more time to prepare for the absolutely horrendous words on screen.

_Lee Minho, Junior, Student ID: HA2QTT508 – Monthly Report._

_General Subjects (Minimum of Five (5)) Chosen:_

_Korean Literature – B-_

_Essential Mathematics – D-_

_Physical Education - B_

_Geography – C_

_English – D+_

_Electives (Semesterly):_

_1 – Outdoor Recreational (Completed) – Final Grade: C_

_2 - Ethics (Undergoing) – A+_

Jisung paled at the results. How the hell was he only managing a C in Geography, and a B in P.E?? Those were the ‘throw-away’ subjects, literally the bottom of the barrel. Jisung could probably take them, study for one day, and get the top grade.

And yet, that wasn’t the worst of it. Lee Minho was literally failing two subjects. Jisung was surprised he was even scraping a B minus in Literature if he was honest.

But then again, Minho was good with his words, hence the bright, shiny, and somewhat incongruent A plus on the bottom of his file.

Jisung leaned back into his very plump and soft pillows. He doubted Minho studied an hour a night, if at all. God, his own grades were going to be screwed. He had A to A pluses in everything (although seeing that Minho had one-upped him in Ethics made him question briefly if he was doing good at all) and now they were about to be ruined.

Rest in peace current scholarship, future scholarships.

If he didn’t magically swap back into his body soon, Lee Minho could really ruin his future.

He swallowed back the thought, when he felt anxiety bubble up inside of him, and set the laptop to the side.

He wondered what Minho was doing right now. Had the elder finished dinner yet? Was he helping clean up or had he already destroyed Jisung’s relationship with his mother? Was he looking at Jisung’s own report? Or watching soccer videos or something?

At the recollection of his computer’s search history, that had certainly not been deleted, Jisung flushed. Suddenly he felt… hot.

He spared a glance at Minho’s computer, lying there like it was waiting for something.

He licked his chapped lips, indecision hazing his mind and a _different_ stronger feeling clouding his mind.

Could he…? He could use Incognito, no one would know-

_No!_ What the _fuck!_

He couldn’t _use_ Minho’s body for his own stupid teenage-hormonal desires! God, what the hell was he thinking!?!

Slamming the laptop closed with a frustrated sigh and rolling over on his front, he squished his head between the pillows, not bothering to even change out of his clothes and find pyjamas.

And maybe it was the exhaustion of the day, or the early morning soccer practice he had lined up for tomorrow that made him fall asleep without another thought.

“Minho that cross was sloppy! _Look_ where you are going to kick the ball!”

Coach Kim’s barks sounded across the crisp, dew-ridden and foggy early-morning soccer field and Jisung attempted a quick bow before forcing himself to get back into the game.

_God, I wish I could understand this stupid game!_ He thought, watching as two figures, one of them Jeongin (he could tell by the red blur of hair) tackled each other for the ball almost falling over on the slippery pitch.

His body automatically did the actual movements, the whole kicking and passing and scoring thing by itself, with Jisung just having to run in a path he hoped was away from the opposition and close to the goal.

He spent the whole time getting ready this morning watching ‘soccer for dummies’ videos and ‘how to give a motivational pep talk’ and although they had been somewhat helpful, learning how to play the game would take far longer than half an hour.

“Felix! _Get that!_ ” Coach Kim’s voice came again and Jisung winced at the pure irritation in his tone, but still slightly glad _he_ wasn’t the one being yelled at.

He watched as Felix yelled back a ‘ _sorry_ ’ and how Coach Kim just kicked the ground and grumbled out “ _what am I training five-year-olds?!_ ”

Damn, the elder sounded like such a whiner! Jisung frowned at the Coach’s bitter attitude but attempted to refocus on the game when a squawk from Jeongin (how did he know it was Jeongin?) came from across the field.

“Hyung! Left!”

Immediately, his body moved before his mind, and he found himself scoring the final goal before Coach Kim blew his whistle.

“Pep talk?” the man asked like it wasn’t a question, but rather a demand when they all joined in a circle.

Jisung swallowed nervously but stepped forward with Hyunjin’s either-supporting-or-harsh nudge (he couldn’t figure the elder out.) He had watched a TedTalk on this last night – how to motivate and inspire people. More specifically he also dragged through countless soccer pep talks on the internet until he had memorised something that sounded alright.

So, he tried his best and at the whole-hearted ‘whoop’ from Felix at the end, he guessed it was good enough.

“You coming back to the changing rooms?” Hyunjin asked blankly, the same odd and unceasing sparkle in his eye.

He would have questioned that Hyunjin, who was a younger than Minho, left out the honorary ‘hyung’ at the end of his sentence if he were a braver man.

“Nah,” Jisung replied, backing down; somewhat perplexed at the boy’s casual attitude. “I’ll stay out here for a little.”

He didn’t watch as the rest of the team and Coach Kim left.

Instead he stared at the cold, unforgiving sun; nothing more than a bright glaring light behind overcast gloomy clouds.

There was something strangely beautiful in this whole ‘waking-up-before-dawn (just-to-run-around, sweat, and-get-yelled-at)’ kind of thing. His asthma had held him back from outdoor sports for a large part of his childhood and even though soccer, the jock culture and what it stood for disagreed with every one of his values, there was that strange feeling to… cherish this moment.

Like he had been cherishing Minho’s rich life. It was so different to his own: no money problems, no cold showers, no soups made of almost-rotten vegetables for dinners, no… issues.

Well there was one, but it wasn’t exactly to do with Minho’s life - Jisung missed Chan and Changbin.

It had only been, what… a few days, and his whole heart ached like he hadn’t seen them in years. His whole life (apart from the two years in Malaysia and Cha’s time in Australia) he had been with the pair. Even almost every day in the summers.

They always were there for him; whether it was helping his choose some subjects for school, giving his food when he had none, or just simply talking to him.

So, with the confusion and absurdity of switching lives and bodies with Minho, he missed them even more.

When the teachers’ cars for the start of class started pulling up, he left the field. The changing room was deserted, his sports bag alone on the bench. He ran himself a hot shower, steam billowing around the brick walls and dried off, staring at himself in the cracked mirror, most likely broken by a stray soccer ball, or maybe even an angry fist after a game badly played.

Sometimes he liked to think of little stories for the most ordinary of objects. His mother said he’d done it for as long as she remembered.

His heart panged at the reminder of his beloved mother and he turned away from the mirror, sad-driven irritation bubbling up in his chest.

But instead of giving the mirror another crack and himself seven years of bad luck (even though he doubted he’d ever have the balls to actually ever punch something _especially_ after he’d given it a little backstory) he threw on his school uniform that always hung awkwardly on his real body, but fit snugly on Minho’s.

Just another God-given advantage to Lee Minho, he supposed.

And as he walked to from the soccer fields to the school building then to class, he wondered what he, if he had his usual life, would be doing and feeling at that very moment.

When Mr. Jang presented the debate topic, Jisung already knew he was screwed. It was his first Ethics lesson since the body-switch, and before, he would have no doubts about what he was going to say and argue to the one and only irritation of Lee Minho. But now _he_ was Lee Minho… How the hell could he argue his own ideas if he was Minho?

“Would anyone like to speak?” Mr. Jang prompted, seeming surprised that both he and Minho (himself?) hadn’t already stood up moved to the front of the classroom. “Is the prompt not big enough? It’s uh – ‘Should individuals be allowed to hide their true identities online and speak freely without consequences, or not?’”

Jisung licked his lips, his brain already whirring with contentions for both sides of the issue. He shifted his eyes from Mr. Jang and the whiteboard back to Minho, who seemingly wasn’t as enthusiastic to speak as he was in previous lessons like Jisung.

“Anyone?” Mr. Jang asked, turning to stare at him. “Minho?”

Jisung gulped, the teacher’s gaze pointed, confused, expectant, and almost… heated.

Words, like fire, flickered on the tip of his tongue. But instead he shook his head.

The class went by slowly.

It was lunch before something piqued his interest.

“Party tonight,” Hyunjin stated as they walked from English.

Jisung was too preoccupied with finding an excuse to go alone to his actual locker where some of his belongings were to fully comprehend the question. “A party?”

Hyunjin looked vaguely irritated. “Yeah, Woojoong’s. Tonight.”

Jisung paled and remembered Woojoong was potentially the name of the centre-back who played beside Felix.

“Ah, that party,” Jisung choked out. “I’m uh – busy tonight. Sorry.”

Hyunjin glared at him this time rather than his usual blank-angry expression. “Seriously?”

Jisung looked away from Hyunjin’s intimidating gaze. “Sorry, man.”

Hyunjin huffed from beside him, seemingly pissed.

“Stop apologising so much,” he growled out before hurriedly but also smoothly (?) walking away, leaving him distinctly behind.

Welp, looks like he didn’t need to find that excuse to get himself alone after all.

He sagged over to the sophomore’s lockers, his heart flipping again in despair when he saw Chan’s messy ramen-noodle hair above the heads of the crowd, but tried to look as composed as Lee Minho always did. (He even ‘dapped someone up’ when he passed them in the hall. If that didn’t scream cool-guy-sport-cultured-student he didn’t know what it did.)

“Wait, you’re not going!?” Minho almost shrieked when Jisung told him about declining the party invitation.

“Hell no!” Jisung defended himself, grabbing the last of his items out of his locker. “I’ve never been to a party! Besides I don’t want to _drink,_ or do – or do _drugs!”_

“The soccer team doesn’t ‘do drugs’” Minho sighed exasperatedly, sagging against the locker like his life was over. “It’d show up in the tests.”

Jisung gaped at the boy. Was that really the only reason Minho stayed away from drugs?!?

“You’re an idiot,” Minho continued. “This is _my_ reputation you’re ruining here. I’d never skip a party for a shitty reason. Now you’re just making me look suspicious.”

“No one’s going to think we swapped bodies,” Jisung grumbled, slamming the locker closed. “But I’ll go to the next one if that’ll get you off my back, okay?”

Minho just cocked an eyebrow.

“I _will!”_ Jisung defended himself again.

The elder just turned away. They were quiet for a few moments. The hallways had cleared out – everyone in the cafeteria or outside for lunch break.

Without the bustling sound of students scuffling up and down the usually full corridor, everything just seemed slightly eerie.

To fill up the silence, Jisung hesitantly asked, “How’s Chan and Changbin?”

“They’re fine.”

“Has Chan said anything about his music?”

Minho stared back at him, his eyes searching for something. “Yeah, finished a track recently.”

“Really?” Jisung squeaked, knowing the exact track Minho was referring to – the one that Chan had almost given up on but refused to so many times. “I – I mean, cool. Good. That’s great.”

Minho turned away, then, looking… strangely thoughtful. “It’s… okay to be excited about your friends, you know?”

Jisung snapped his head up, but Minho didn’t look at him. What was… going on? Was popular-pompous-privileged-prick soccer team captain Lee Minho really being… compassionate?

Jisung swallowed, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the other. He reminded himself about the boy’s true personality – a smart-ass stupid prick who only cared about himself.

_‘Remember what he did to Chan-hyung?’_ his mind supplied, dark and foreboding.

Right. Chan. The reason why he, Han Jisung, hated Lee Minho.

“Whatever,” he snapped, the once calm between them shattered with his voice. “I gotta go.”

He didn’t bother to look at Minho before he turned away and left.

“You mad?” was the first thing Minho asked, completely unbothered if the answer was ‘yes’, after school.

Jisung glared at the elder from the corner of his eye. He wondered if the boy just asked to irritate him further. Still, he replied with, “No.”

“You miss your friends, right?” Minho prodded again.

Jisung slung his backpack over his shoulder, the after-school halls crowded and uncomfortable. “So? They’ll be waiting for you right now. Leave.”

“I told them to wait a few minutes,” Minho shrugged nonchalantly.

Jisung gawked at the elder, almost tripping over as the pair exited the main hall. “Why?! Changbin has to get home early on Friday’s!”

Minho hummed. “I know. But I told them it was important.”

Jisung frowned. Now Minho was ruining his decade long friendships?! Changbin _had_ to be home for his English tutoring, and now Minho, as Jisung, was going to make him late!

“Well,” Jisung started, spotting Chan’s van waiting patiently in the carpark. “What’s so important then?”

Minho paused. “You trust them, right? With everything?”

Jisung turned to face the elder, astonished the boy was questioning his loyalty and trust. “Yes! Of course, I do!”

“Okay,” Minho replied, a fierce look in his eyes, “Let’s tell them then.”

Jisung felt the Earth tilt on its axis.

_“What!?”_

“Shut up!” Minho hissed when a group of students, seniors maybe turned to stare at them. “God, be quiet, Jisung. You can’t be _seen_ with me.”

Jisung almost felt his blood boil again at that snarky comment, but instead he focussed himself to the holistic situation. Tell them. Minho wanted to tell them.

“Are-” he stuttered, timorous. “Are you sure?”

Minho rana hand through his hair, looking away, the orange locks Jisung had destroyed, dull and unforgiving. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’m… doing this for you.”

The words hit him like a brick.

Minho was… right. Jisung had been so caught up in his own mind and loneliness, he barely registered that Minho was putting himself on the line here, he wasn’t the one gaining anything from this, or clearing his guilty conscious. Minho was doing this for him.

“Okay,” Jisung whispered softly, not quite sure what to say. “Okay... Thanks.”

It took five minutes for Jisung to compose himself, prepare for his friends to hate him, and for the parking lot to be devoid of almost all cars but one.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

Explaining their situation was even harder than he thought. Minho had convinced the other two out of the car and to come to meet Jisung at the back of the school so they could all talk in private. And now that he was face to face with his childhood friends _as_ Lee Minho had his anxiety and heart racing.

“Jisung?” Chan questioned a careful frown on his face. “What’s up?”

Jisung felt his heart clench when his best friend was staring directly at Minho instead of him.

“ _Okay, so,”_ Minho started slowly, giving Jisung a nudge, snapping him out of his nervous-ridden mind. “We have something to _tell_ you-”

Jisung paled when the elder motioned at him to explain. Changbin frowned when he stayed quiet. Chan just looked bewildered.

“Are you…” the eldest started quizzically, his hand swirling around in a circle at them in a very-Chan-way. “…Dating?”

Jisung’s eyes almost popped out of their socket. “No! God, Chan-hyung, no!”

“Hyung?” Changbin questioned, his relentless glare not giving up.

Jisung swallowed and Minho just shrugged _(thanks, because that was really helpful!)_

“No,” Jisung spluttered, collecting himself. “It’s uh – we – um… switched?”

Chan and Changbin were quiet.

“ _Switched?”_ Chan raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Minho replied _finally_ backing him up. “Switched. Bodies, lives, whatever.”

“We don’t know why, or how-” Jisung rambled when Changbin looked like he was ready to explode and Chan ready to faint. “But a few days ago we completely switched consciousnesses and now we’re living each other’s lives and-”

He felt his eyes embarrassingly fill with tears.

“A-And I’m actually Jisung even though I look like Minho and he’s me, and it’s _so_ weird and confusing but now I have to wake up early and play _soccer_ and I just missed you guys. A lot.”

What he surely wasn’t expecting after his dramatic speech for both Chan and Minho to start laughing.

“What the _hell!”_ he gently punched Chan’s arm, and felt his ears redden when Chan wrapped him into a strong hug.

“Ah, it _is_ you Sungie,” Chan murmured, his voice familiar and calm against his ear. “But why’d you put playing soccer higher on the list of bad things than us!?”

Jisung laughed wetly, pulling away. “Hyung, don’t even get me started on Geography. I have it four times a week. Four. Times.”

Chan laughed once more and hesitantly Jisung looked over to Changbin who was staring at him in disbelief completely silent.

Jisung swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. Would Changbin believe him? Would he think it was all a prank? Why was he still glaring and-

“J-Ji?” Changbin whispered rather sceptically.

Jisung stood up straighter. “Binnie-hyung? Do… you believe me?”

The elder didn’t answer for a second and Jisung felt his heart leap into his throat.

And then, a small and quiet, “Yeah. I… do.”

Jisung felt his heart explode in happiness. “God hyung, we’re not getting _married!”_

Changbin snorted and held open his arms, Jisung excitedly bounding into them like a puppy.

“I missed you hyung, but more than that I missed your yellow credit card and sandwiches.”

Changbin scoffed, pretending to be offended, but Jisung noticed how his arms wrapped slightly tighter around him like he was holding onto something important.

“You weren’t – I mean, Minho…” Changbin said, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. “ _Minho_ wasn’t bullying me enough; that’s how I knew something was up.”

At the mention of the other boy, Jisung turned around to see Minho standing back, leaning against the wall looking slightly torn between looking away or watching the happy reunion. Jisung felt… thankful that the other usually irritating boy had planned this all for him…

Perhaps he’d have to do something in return.

But then again… did Minho really deserve his kindness? After what happened last year and all the condescending gazes and smug cheers in Ethics – stealing the top of the class from Jisung’s rightful place? The place that determined his whole future?

Now, _that_ was debatable.

“It’s so odd that you have his body but your… personality,” Chan noted, rubbing his forehead like he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

“I _know_ ,” Jisung grumbled. “I have to do all his classes and be on the soccer team and pretend to be really cool and it’s _so hard!”_

Chan laughed at Jisung’s complaints but for some reason, Changbin looked… introspective about something - staring behind Jisung at Minho.

Maybe he’d ask about it later.

“Well, I’m just so glad you’re back!” Chan smiled broadly, once again oblivious to Changbin’s emotions. “Even if you’re… ya’ know… not _back_ back.”

Jisung looked down and remembered he was in fact in Lee Minho’s body.

“Yeah,” he agreed, slightly sadly, looking at Minho who had glanced up at the mention of swapping back. “We don’t know how to get our own bodies back… but I’m sure this will only last a week at most.”

Then, Minho piped up, his voice rather pessimistic and unfamiliar in the usual exclusive group of three. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, making Chan laugh once more. “Let’s stay optimistic, huh?”

Changbin hummed, still looking slightly removed from the whole situation and Chan whooped in agreement.

Jisung smiled a genuine smile for the first time since the switch.

Because now, with his friends and a secret off his chest, the world looked just a little bit lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this chapter is literally //a month// apart from the last one :(( This is my final few months of school so literally every week I'm having one or two tests that will determine my final grade! :0
> 
> I was just chilling, going back to school, but it's all been closed down for another six weeks. Public transit takes up- 2-3 hours of my school day and because I have motion sickness I could never write anything there. At least now in the afternoons instead of spending an hour and a half on the bus, I'll be able to hopefully squeeze in some writing so I can try to keep an every-three-weeks schedule. 
> 
> Anyway, time for the (monthly lmao) questions!
> 
> Q: How are you guys? How'd everyone find this chapter? Favourite part? What's going on with Jisung's dislike towards Minho? Interesting? Or can you already guess what I'm hinting at? Why do you think Changbin was *introspective* in that final scene? What do you think's going to happen next?
> 
> Already started on chapter four! I think it's one of the biggest ones this whole story, so watch out.
> 
> I know these updates seem pretty sparse, but I promise I really like this fic lmao. I have fun writing it, and when the plot picks up a little more in the next chapters, it should be a little easier for me to write. 
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone! Please comment your answers to the questions or anything you want to tell me :)
> 
> Hope you are all STAYing safe (omg I'm so PREDICTABLE)
> 
> Talic


	4. In Which Reality Hits Jisung Like a Punch to the Face

The whole ‘switching-bodies’ debacle was not a week-long-thing, much to Jisung’s dismay.

In fact, Jisung had been in Minho’s body and by default his life for exactly fourteen days. Two _whole weeks._

And honestly, it wasn’t too bad. Look, he felt terrible saying that, especially when he thought about his mother (who he missed dearly) and how hard she worked to provide for him his whole life.

But… living in a mansion? Hot showers _every day?_ Expensive food he’d never tried before that _wasn’t_ soup, rice and bread? The perfect desk, a maid at his disposal, internet that worked… the quality of life was something he’d never imagined; didn’t even think was possible!

Plus, soccer was really, _really_ slowly starting to become… fun. Okay, the whole team apart from Jeongin and Felix, and Coach Kim’s screams he could dump on the side of the road and never turn back. But the five a.m. wakeups on Monday’s, Wednesday’s, and Friday’s weren’t too bad anymore, and scoring a goal with little effort, or even just running around without collapsing into a choking ball of sweat that needed a puffer, was actually pretty great.

And now that he could call and talk to Chan and Changbin after school (Minho still wouldn’t let himself be seen with anyone but the soccer team) life was going as bad as he thought.

Of course, there were some downfalls. He never got breakfast in the morning and as he never got up early to piece something together, usually all he’d manage was a muesli bar that got him through training and nothing else, leaving him starving until recess.

Furthermore, Minho’s classes sucked ass. He didn’t need to go on _another_ tangent about Geography, but at least he had managed to get Minho a B on his most recent math test. (He actually knew almost _every_ answer but decided to get a few wrong on purpose so he wouldn’t look suspicious. From what he could tell the Lee’s had a high reputation and with Mr. Lee barking on about it most still-awkward dinners, Jisung really didn’t want to ruin it with cheating rumours.)

So yeah, there were a few advantages and disadvantages to living as Lee Minho, but overall, Jisung was pretty happy.

Although it had been two weeks, the weeks hadn’t been uneventful. He still forgot to turn around at the call of ‘Minho’ rather than Jisung, he made a fool of himself in Korean Literature (a subject, as Jisung, he had never taken and thus knew nothing about) when he was asked a question, and Jeongin had asked him when his birthday was and Jisung had no clue.

Hyunjin was still as scary as ever – barely paying him any attention in English class (which Jisung didn’t know if he was happy about or not) and yelling at him from the goals if he ever screwed up a pass in soccer.

A few days ago, Jisung had complained to Minho about the other’s personality and Minho had just replied _“that’s just how he is – deal with it.”_

(Jisung had then continued to complain about Hyunjin _and_ Minho’s unhelpful response to Chan and Changbin on their three-way call that night.)

But really, Minho wasn’t being _too_ much of an ass. A week ago, they had finally run some ‘science experiments’ on their connections to their old and new bodies. The conclusion was that, yes, they had each other’s physical attributes (Minho was not happy about giving up his muscle strength for asthma) while retaining their mental abilities.

Jisung also found if he pelted a pencil at Minho as hard as he could, the same pain would distantly show up on his own body, though no bruise or mark would be left.

Really, the theories were countless, the science either baffling or not even there, the switch-back method… not found as of yet.

He mused about this as he stepped into the running shower, steam making the large mirrors fog up.

As soon as the hot water touched his skin, he felt the stiffness of his muscles relax, his mind melt into a puddle with relief. Morning showers at the Lee’s were something he would definitely miss when he got his body back.

The way the water burned his skin, made it sensitive to touch while also easing all his stresses was inexplainable, fluid, sybaritic, sensual.

So, he really couldn’t help it when his mind wandered, exacerbated by the heat of his own skin, to… steamy things.

He closed his eyes, images of his computer searches and desires flashing through his mind, making the already scalding shower even hotter.

Tentatively he placed the expensive bar of soap back onto its rack and lowered his hand till it met skin again.

He gasped, leaning back. “H-Holy shit.”

He had done the deed in lust and habit before he even thought about his actions, too caught up in pleasure; in steam.

Already feeling ashamed, he washed his hand off under the water, scrubbing the rest of his body with his eyes closed in embarrassment rather than arousal.

_You’re a fucking idiot, Han Jisung,_ he thought, his cheeks bright red, as he dried and clothed his body, no – _Minho’s_ body once more. _You seriously jacked off in the Lee’s shower?! It’s seven in the morning! This is a new all-time low._

He kept thinking about what he had done, and how much he had enjoyed it as he sat in Mrs. Lee’s car on the way to school, then in Korean Literature in which he attempted to take slightly neater notes (not too bad considering this subject was one he was rather interested in), then in English class.

Unlike Korean Literature, English was mind-numbingly boredom; Hyunjin tossing paper balls at the guy in the row in front of them the whole time. He kept quiet, unlike how he usually would. As Jisung he was proud of the way he would stand up for others. But the soccer team were assholes, and as Minho, he was an extension of that cultish-jock-behaviour that everyone seemed impressed by.

So, to stay in line with being an asshole, he kept quiet.

He hated the way his stomach squired all through class.

He had finally managed the morning’s ‘shower incident’ out of his mind at the beginning of recess when he saw Changbin pining helplessly for Chan and all his lingering concupiscence withered like an old flower.

Nothing like a slightly pitiful one-sided romance between his childhood friends to squash any residual lust.

Overall, recess was another oddity. After seeing Changbin, he had just been chilling, waiting for Felix to get his books from his locker and a senior _actually flirted_ with him. He had immediately turned into a spluttering mess because _maybe_ the guy looked a little like Chan and as he had mentioned before he _maybe_ had a few fantasies about the elder in sophomore year.

But then the elder, seemingly encouraged by his quietness, put his hand on his shoulder.

And that’s where things went a little south.

Having never been placed in this situation before, he barely had said anything until Felix saved him.

_“Mate,”_ the usually chipper Australian said, a smile devoid from his freckled face.

Jisung tensed, uncomfortable at both the elder touching his shoulder and the way Felix looked ready to take him down.

Felix faked a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Fuck off.”

Jisung froze. So did the hand brushing his shoulder.

The senior left with a middle finger.

“You good?” Felix asked as they walked to the cafeteria.

Jisung nodded dumbly, trying to wrap his head around the situation. “I’m… good. He seemed… alright though.”

Felix raised his eyebrows. “What? Hyung, how many times has that dickhead hit on you? Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he’s a good person we have to treat with ‘utmost respect.’”

Jisung paled again at how flippant Felix was; the way the word ‘gay’ was loud, teetering on disrespectful. He paled because Felix, in some obscure way was also right.

He didn’t speak much at recess. Jeongin had joined them though, saying his friend was at band practise or something.

Hyunjin stared at him the whole time.

By the end of recess, he was feeling back to his bubbly self – or should he say he was under his demeanour of being ‘Lee Minho.’

(He couldn’t help but get excited at going to Essential Maths though, something he was sure Lee Minho wasn’t. Apart from Korean Lit, it was the only other class that truly stimulated his mind and interested him. Seungmin was in it too, which was a plus; even though the younger sat at the very front of the class and all Jisung could see was the other’s cherry-brown hair.)

In sport class, the teacher just let him play soccer, giving up on an actual class. Jisung didn’t argue though – albeit it was slightly terrifying to play only with the juniors, of which five of his class played but were in lower-ranked teams, without the bubbly barrier of Jeongin or Felix reassuring him he was doing alright.

But even without their support, he _did_ do alright. Funny thing was, physics and maths actually had a large role in soccer if he thought about it. And that made it slightly enjoyable.

He ranted excitedly about his new application of physics theory to soccer to Minho in their coincidentally joint spare period which before neither of them knew they shared.

“I never knew sport could be so mathematical!” Jisung scratched his chin, leaning against the shelves. “Or scientific!”

“That’s great,” Minho deadpanned with a sneeze that somewhat broke his serious vibe.

Right. They were in a storage closet – the only place Minho allowed them to meet; a place so hidden and unused that no one would see them interacting with each other.

Despite the elder’s secrecy and their history, Jisung was somewhat starting to consider him a friend.

When Minho turned to him, however, and said “ _I failed your Chemistry test,_ ” Jisung really took back his previous thought.

“You _what?”_ he screeched, clinging onto the elder’s shoulders.

Minho coughed again, rubbing his chest, but Jisung didn’t let go. “I failed. Twenty-three percent.”

It was like the whole world came crashing down.

“You can’t _fail,_ Minho,” he choked out, shocked. “I’m – you’re on a _scholarship!”_

“Yeah, and?”

Jisung leaned forward so he could see Minho better, completely appalled. “It’s _my_ future! I can’t fail more than two tests a year without plausible reasoning, or I’ll lose my scholarship. This _school_ is what sets me up for my future! Why don’t you understand that – especially after seeing my – my _whole life!”_

Minho looked slightly taken aback, but his permanent scowl didn’t lift. “Well, this isn’t like soccer okay – I don’t have your brain like how you have my body. I can’t just spit out random science things, and even if I attempted to study for it, I still wouldn’t get it.”

Jisung groaned, frustrated with the other’s pessimism. “Why don’t you even _try!”_

Minho just shrugged.

They were both quiet for a moment.

Jisung was furious.

“You can’t treat my life like a joke just because it’s so bad compared to what you’re used to,” he muttered darkly, embodying Minho’s own sour attitude.

The boy turned to him with a sniff. “My life isn’t all that easy, you know?”

Jisung scoffed. “What? Hot showers, maids, the perfect desk, and restaurant-tier meals? Yeah _, real laborious_.”

Minho laughed then, bitter, and it cut through the quiet of the storage room. “You’ll see…it’s been what? Fourteen days since we switched?”

Jisung swallowed, somewhat hesitant to respond and the other’s strange behaviour. “Uh… yes?”

Minho hummed then chuckled again. “Whatever.”

Jisung watched as he got up and walked towards the door.

“And hey – Jisung,” the elder said a harsh glint in his eye. “I think you forgot that everything you do to your, no, _my_ body, I can feel.”

The younger cocked his head, wondering why and how Minho looked so… smug, but also… disgusted?

And then Minho said it. “Don’t jack me off. That’s essentially molestation.”

Jisung felt his cheeks flush red and in an instant the door closed.

He’d been exposed. Minho had… he had-

God, he was disgusting.

His day was just getting worse.

At lunch, he escaped to the music rooms to find Chan.

“Lee Minho is so – so _damn irritating!_ ”

Chan flashed his dimples with an amused hum. “What did he do this time?”

“He-” Jisung began but stopped as soon as he started, flushing bright red. “He _just is!”_

Chan did laugh then; seemingly unable to contain his humour. “Sung, he’s really not that bad – aside from a slightly-inflated ego and new money, he’s tolerable. Better than tolerable, even. I played with the guy for years.”

Jisung bit his lip, his mind wanting him to scream the words that would change Chan’s opinion of the elder forever, but he held his tongue. What happened was old news – happened a whole year ago.

And Chan didn’t even seem to mind. At least, he never told Jisung he did.

The fight draining out of him, Jisung plopped onto Chan’s desk chair with a sigh. “How’s… things?”

Chan snickered. “Alright, Sung. But what do you actually want to ask?”

Damn. The elder knew him too well.

“I wanted to ask…” he drawled out, forcing himself not to look at Chan’s knee, _not to look at Chan’s knee,_ and at the elder’s frizzy hair instead to think of a question. “Are you free after school today?”

Chan playfully cocked an eyebrow. “Jisung, you _know_ my schedule… unless… _Lee Minho?_ Is that you? _”_

Jisung glared at the elder. “We didn’t switch back, you dick! I’m right here!”

Chan laughed again and Jisung couldn’t help but break a smile. “Yes, Sung, I’m free. So is Bin. We should do something.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jisung rolled his eyes and narrowly avoided a punch to his shoulder. “Sorry! Hyung! Chan-hyung – Channie-hyung-hyung-Channie-hyungie-hyung-”

“Stop!” the Australian whined and buried his head into his hands (Jisung had the inkling that the elder’s embarrassment was either due to the high praise connected to the word or he had a hyung kink – he prayed for the former.) “You know what – I’m busy after school, got a dentist appointment-”

“Fuck off,” Jisung teased and quickly added the honorary ‘hyung’ when Chan jokingly eyed him again.

“We’ll plan something – meet at the back of school alright?” Chan said as they left the studio when the bell rang.

“You got it,” Jisung replied, and with an incentive to survive through last period geography, he realised that he hadn’t even found the class that bad.

Changbin met them at the car ten minutes after the final bell rang.

“Took you long enough,” Jisung teased and Changbin glared at him for a moment before offering a shrug and climbing into the passenger seat.

“Got caught up,” he answered, still looking moody. “Chan-hyung where were you at lunch? I was with Minho all alone – and I had _no clue_ what to say.”

Jisung was surprised Changbin was having a go at the elder and by Chan’s raised eyebrows he seemed to be as well. “Sorry, Bin. Sung and I were at the recording booth.”

Changbin frowned at that, turning to him. “Sung? You were there too?”

Jisung wasn’t quite sure what the elder wanted to hear. “Uh – yes? Minho pissed me off during our spare, so I had to go rant to Channie-hyung before I socked him.”

Changbin just slumped into the seat. “Well, I would have appreciated a heads up. Minho wasn’t exactly a joy to talk to either – every time I asked him some random thing to fill up the silence, he barely said anything.”

Jisung gawked at that. “Minho? _Lee Minho_ wasn’t talking? God, Bin-hyung what did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything!” the other, bit back, unamused. “It was awkward as fuck.”

Jisung was quiet at that. Changbin didn’t swear often – a good child and all that – so when he did it was a sign that he was more riled up than Jisung thought.

“Hey,” he attempted, extending the olive branch. “It was probably my fault he was pretty quiet – we had a bit of a fight.”

Okay, so not exactly the truth. But he’d rather lie than explain to his hyungs, his closest childhood friends that Minho had… _felt him_ jerking off.

“It’s my bad too, Binnie,” Chan sent the other a soft dimpled smile as they turned onto the main road. “I know that you don’t know Minho that well – if I’d been there, I could have eased some of that awkwardness.”

Jisung cringed at the Australian’s wording – that made it seem like it was Changbin’s fault, but of course, Changbin didn’t notice, or if he did, he was too in love with Chan to say anything about it.

The three were quiet for a while; the humming of the engine and the quiet chatter of the radio’s news hosts filling the noise.

Jisung chewed on his lip, shifting every once in a while, in an attempt to relieve some of his pent-up energy. Usually, he’d get it out by talking but it seemed Changbin wasn’t really in the mood for that right now. At least Chan was driving to the east side of town – a place with an amazing burger joint and a little recording studio for them to play around in.

Rapping would relieve Changbin’s stress as well, so really it was a win-win.

Two hours in, and Jisung’s hypothesis proved supported. After Chan let the elder go into the studio first, the short-boy cooled off some steam – delivering his frustration on quick-paced gravelly verses that Jisung loved so much.

“Woo!” he cheered when Changbin came out of the dingy booth, a small but proud smile on his face. “I think that was some of your best yet.”

“Really?” Changbin asked, and Chan rewound the audio and played it aloud, all three bobbing their heads to the rhythm, Jisung more enthusiastically than the slightly more reserved Changbin.

“I agree,” Chan nodded, referring to Jisung’s previous statement and pressing pause. “What… inspired you today?”

Changbin faltered. “It’s nothing much – not a whole ‘Jisung situation.’ Just with an assignment I got back – you know that Biology one? Didn’t do the best on it.”

Chan frowned, empathetic. “But you worked so hard on it!”

The darker-haired boy slumped. “I know. I’m just disappointed, ya know?”

“Well I’m no help in Bio,” Jisung slapped the other on the back. “But I can go through flashcards with you for the next one, okay?”

Changbin let out a feeble laugh. (Jisung had once tried to help him study once before, with three hundred flashcards in question – he had dropped them all in a huff because he had decreed flashcards as ‘ _the spawn of Satan in paper form.’_ It had taken them an hour to find and reorder all of them.)

“You’re right,” the rapper admitted with a smile. “And I’ll take you up on that Sungie.”

With that their recording session finished. Chan mixed a beat for Jisung to have an attempt at and although he tripped over all his words, he had a lot of fun anyway.

At six, they all went out for an early dinner.

“You’re getting tomatoes?” Jisung curled his lip up at Chan’s order, just after he rattled it off to the waitress.

“Yeah,” Chan shot his classic dimpled smile in defence. “They’re good!”

“That’s one thing I don’t like about you,” Changbin joked, and Jisung was glad the elder was feeling good enough to crack a few quips.

Jisung fist-bumped the boy with a self-made explosion sound effect. “Facts.”

Chan rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He didn’t even notice how the waitress took extra time (and leant _extra_ forward) to collect his menu from him.

“Thank you,” the Australian said with that same classic charming grin.

Jisung rolled his eyes in conjunction with Changbin; not so good-naturedly.

“Chan did you even _see_ her cleavage?!” Jisung hissed when she left them, his voice still slightly too loud to be completely socially acceptable. “She practically had it in your face.”

Chan looked concerned and Jisung couldn’t help but giggle at the elder’s bewildered expression. “She _what?”_

“You’re so blind,” Changbin cut in, his voice with that same slightly pissed-off drawl from that afternoon.

Jisung decided to ignore it.

“You’re going to have to give her a big tip, Hyung,” he cracked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Or maybe just _the_ tip if ya’ catch my – ow!”

“Shuddup,” Changbin grumbled at Jisung took his warning. “You’re being way too loud anyway.”

Chan, now bright red and not-so-discreetly eyeing the rather attractive waitress out of the corner of his eye, jumped to change the conversation. “Sung, how’s ah – the life of Lee Minho treating you?”

Jisung groaned. “Seriously? I finally managed to forget about all that!”

“We haven’t,” Changbin muttered, a frown on his face again. “Every time I look at you, I see Mr. Dickhead.”

“I think we all saw that before anyway,” Chan jived, perking up when a burger (taking far less time than Jisung and Changbin’s own) was set in front of him.

Jisung pouted another time. “No, it’s just I had an argument with him today. And _of course,_ he takes _the worst_ classes – I would do anything for physics and advanced mathematics back again. Ethics sucks _way more_ ass than before and – oh! Don’t get me started with Minho’s attitude towards class! He doesn’t _do anything_ and I’m not even being dramatic when I say my entire scholarship _and_ future is at risk with his laziness!”

He was out of breath when he finished.

“Sorry I asked?” Chan cocked an eyebrow and Jisung shook his head.

“No, honestly I needed to get it all out – otherwise I’d _explode.”_

“And the soccer team?” Chan asked, interested, and Jisung felt his heart clench slightly at the elder’s enthusiasm.

“They’re alright – kinda dicks though, I guess. You _know_ how much I hate jock-culture. Only the freshman, a red-haired kid called Jeongin is saveable – I just pray he escapes from all those jerks before his junior year.”

Chan looked slightly off-put by his answer and took a bite of his (tomato-filled) burger. Jisung wished sometimes he could choose his words better. Changbin didn’t give him any sympathy.

“Minho must feel lonely then,” is what the boy said after a moment’s pause.

Jisung scoffed and turned towards the elder. “Huh?”

“Lonely,” Changbin repeated. “He looked kinda down at lunch? I think?”

“Maybe that’s just because you can’t make conversation,” Jisung pointed out and Changbin fixed him with a glare.

Luckily his phone pinging saved him from another berating.

“Who’s that?” Chan saved him and Jisung struggled with the high-tech phone before finally opening the messages.

“The soccer team,” Jisung replied with disdain, his eyes searching the sporadic flow of messages as they came up on his screen. “There’s a party. Tonight. They all want me to go…”

“A party?” Changbin scoffed and Jisung felt in the same boat.

“Maybe I don’t have to go – wait… Minho just messaged me, and I quote, ‘I am going to cheat on every single one of your tests and get caught on purpose if you don’t show up to Ilsong’s party.’”

“Ilsong’s a good guy,” Chan pointed out like Jisung had any idea who this random dude was.

“This is going to be awful,” he declared half-heartedly, a hypothesis that this would in fa t be terrible swirling through his head. Chan, ever the optimist didn’t feel the same way.

“You’ll be fine!” he smiled. “Your first high-school party, get excited!”

Jisung’s pout deepened. “I wanted my first high school party to be with you guys.”

Chan chuckled fondly, (even ever-sour-today-Changbin softened at that) reaching out to clap him gently on the back.

“Don’t worry, Sung,” he said with so much sincerity that Jisung almost believed his next words. “You’ll have fun.”

It only took him thirty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds in a crowded room with sweaty, drunk, horny teenagers with no parental supervision and way too much booze for Jisung to realise that high-school parties were certainly not fun.

“You good?” what was he could make of Felix’s yell over the boom of the music; the Australian holding a classic red solo cup in his hand. One that Han Jisung ‘I’ve-never-drunk-alcohol-in-my-entire-life’ also had.

He nodded back and faked a smile. He was fine, not anxious and claustrophobic around all these people, definitely not, he was fine, it was chill-

“Hyung!” a voice from his left came and Jisung startled before he saw the flash of red hair being Yang Jeongin come into his vision. “Go outside for a bit – the pool’s nice!”

It was strange – the boy both looked way out of place and very content at the party. Perhaps it was unsettling because there was no way the other was older than mid-fifteen and yet he drank whatever the hell was in these solo cups like an expert.

Keeping the thought to himself, Jisung, under Hyunjin’s watchful gaze, thanked the younger for an excuse to get the hell out of there because _his throat definitely wasn’t closing up and god he would die literally and die of embarrassment if he had an asthma attack-_

When the cold air hit his face, he sucked in a deep breath.

Better.

Habitually he rubbed his chest, easing some of the tension he expected to be there but it was nothing to be of concern. Right – Minho had his asthma – in his panic he had forgotten.

“You alright?” a voice asked from his right, surprising him, and with a jump, Jisung turned to the other.

It was that senior. The one from recess.

“Ah, yes, I’m okay,” Jisung hurriedly explained, straightening himself up so he didn’t look like a ‘pussy.’ “Party’s just… intense, ya know?”

“I feel you,” the senior agreed with a chuckle and Jisung exhaled in relief; finally, someone understood him. “Why do ya’ think I’m out here?”

“Yeah,” Jisung relaxed, leaning against the house’s wall. “God, I feel like I’m going to permanently lose my hearing if I go back in there.”

The senior shifted so he was closer to him, their shoulders touching. Jisung didn’t comment. It was getting cold and neither of them had a jacket. (When Jisung had gotten into more appropriate clothes, neither Chan nor Minho, who they video called, let him wear his usual denim jacket.)

“It’s chilly out here, huh?” the senior said with a smile and Jisung nodded, uncertain.

“W-What’s your name, sorry?” he blurted out, reddening at how stupid the question was.

The elder just grinned, his hand moving to Jisung’s thigh. “Ji Banjong.”

“O-Okay,” Jisung stuttered _(god he hated his nervous stutter, surely that was left with his old body)_ and inched away slightly when Banjong’s breath felt hot on his face. “Have you um – had anything to drink?”

Banjong raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you? I’ll fix up something for you, how about that?”

Jisung swallowed, not sure what to say.

Luckily the door’s opening saved him.

“Oi, piss off,” came a low voice, he recognised as Hyunjin’s drift across the empty backyard.

Jisung, feeling caught red-handed, awkwardly leant away, looking to the newcomers. It was Hwang Hyunjin, looking irritated as per usual and a far-less-chipper than usual Jeongin tailing him.

Banjong didn’t seem very happy to see them. “Hwang, Jeonginnie, what can I do for you boys?”

Hyunjin eyes darkened in the already low light. “Minho, what the hell are you doing? Come back inside.”

Jisung frowned at the order. He wasn’t sure about all the semantics, but he knew Minho was older than Hyunjin by at least a few months – and even though Jisung was younger than Hyunjin - surely the other had to treat Minho with respect.

And yet he couldn’t stop the way his insides curdled at the way Banjong said ‘Jeonginnie’; the way it crawled off his tongue, the nickname seeming like it had more meaning and history than it initially held.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, stepping away from Banjong and towards the direction of the party; of the door. “I’ll just-”

The words caught in his throat when a strong grip clenched around his bicep. He froze.

“Aw, c’mon Lee you’ve been leading me on all night,” Banjong slurred and Jisung realised that the senior was far more intoxicated and angrier than he thought.

“W-Wait” he attempted to rip away from the grasp, but it just held tighter, pain shooting up his arm like a firework.

And in a flash, it was gone. He stumbled onto the ground, someone presumedly Jeongin helping him up.

Residual fear making his vision blurry, and his knees weak, he glanced back over to where Banjong was. Or had been.

Because just steps in front of him, Hyunjin was pummelling Ji Banjong into the ground.

Eyes wide, Jisung was too shocked to do something; even when Banjong’s grunts became a feeble whimper, then a pained _‘please.’_

A hand still tight on his shoulder, Yang Jeongin didn’t move either.

Hyunjin didn’t stop until Felix and another soccer player, perhaps Ilsong, pulled him off, the boy still raging to go.

A lump in his throat Jisung turned to look at Banjong, the boy who not mere minutes ago was offering to make him a drink, the boy who was now clutching what looked to be a broken nose in pain.

“Minho, Innie,” a hiss came and Jisung flinched to see Felix. “Get the fuck up, we need to dip before someone jumps Hyunjin-hyung.”

And in another minute the four of them were out of the party, walking down the late-night streets in mutual silence.

It was Hyunjin, his voice clogged from seeming a punch to the face, that broke it.

“What the fuck where you doing out there Minho-hyung?” he demanded, kicking a stray pebble until it hit what Jisung expected to be a curb with a ‘thunk.’

Jisung swallowed wishing his hands would stop trembling. It was from the shock and fear of it all rather than an anxiety attack no matter how fast his mind was racing – he wondered how Minho, taking the brunt of its physical effects would be feeling.

“I don’t-” he started before lamely cutting himself off. “I needed air.”

That didn’t seem good enough for Hyunjin, however. “You’re normally fine at parties. Besides when you saw that dickhead out there why the hell did you stay?”

Feebly, Jisung turned to Jeongin and Felix for some backup, but the pair of them looked sullen.

“I-” Jisung tried again. “He offered me a drink.”

Hyunjin scoffed and Jisung winced at the trickle of clotted blood that came out of his right nostril at the motion. “Yeah? A _drugged one_ no doubt.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” he snapped, running a hand through his hair, doing his best to keep his breathing even. “Is that enough for you?”

Hyunjin didn’t answer. Just kicked another stone. If he were in a better state of mind, Jisung might have applauded the other for not punching him in the face too.

“You need to get home?” Jeongin asked, his voice loud on the quiet, empty streets.

Jisung paused. He hadn’t even taken Minho’s parents into consideration when planning his afternoon. “Probably.”

Like the thought manifested them, Felix shot him a glance. “Isn’t your Eomma going to kill you for being out? I thought you weren’t let out on school nights.”

_What?_

“Huh?” he clarified, and Felix looked at him; bewildered.

But the Australian didn’t answer him, neither did the other two. Jisung swallowed again, feeling like his night was about to get even worse. The last thing he wanted was some light scolding – but then again, he never had strict rules with his own mother – it wasn’t _really_ his fault for not knowing.

They reached a crossroads and Jisung waved Hyunjin and Felix goodbye when they went their separate ways.

Soon enough it was juts hum and Jeongin walking on the middle of the road.

“Where do you uh – live again?” Jisung asked quickly, identifying the café he had Minho had sat in to make their timetables on the left. That meant it would be five minutes tops to the Lee’s mansion.

Jeongin looked slightly pained to answer, “Westbrook.”

Jisung glanced at the younger, astonished. Westbrook was just one suburb over from his own home; only slightly closer to the better side of town. And it was thirty minutes away on foot.

“Right,” he answered, attempting to rein in his surprise. His phone, with access to Minho’s seemingly unlimited credit card felt like a brick in his pocket. “Yeah, uh – do you want me to call an Uber for you then.”

Jeongin laughed and Jisung prayed he hadn’t said the wrong thing. “I’ll run – need to burn off the vodka – Coach Kim will be happy with me.”

And Jisung watched him go without the chance to say another word; the vibrant red hair bobbing like a beacon in the dark street. He took out his phone, using it to distract him (Minho had messaged an ungodly eight times with Chan a close second at six) and guide his way until he reached the mansion.

He tucked it back into his pants when he reached the door – punched the numbers into the keypad and waited as the door automatically slid open. He attempted to be quiet as he slinked through the long, polished halls through the kitchen and to the stairs.

When he didn’t expect to see was Mr. Lee.

“Oh!” he offered a brief smile, his heart thundering. “Hey, sorry I’m home late-”

Pain. A pain so intense he toppled backwards, sprawling as he fell into the wall smacking his head with a jarring _‘bang!’_

Weakly he blinked open his eye, one refusing to do anything, and stared up in shock.

Mr. Lee stood over him, his sleeves rolled up, his expression darker than Hyunjin’s had been before the fight, darker than anything Jisung had ever seen on a human in his entire life.

Mrs. Lee sipped her wine from the couch, silent. It turns out she hadn’t been the one he had needed to be scared of tonight.

“W-Wait-!” he attempted, and he was too confused to defend himself when the father struck him again, sending him limply to the beautiful wooden floors.

Groggily he blinked open his eyes, his ears ringing, his head pounding.

His mother or father had never hit him before, declared violence was never the solution. And when he heard tales of other parents such as Changbin’s or Chan’s mother’s hitting their kids, it had always been a light tap to the wrist, a quick sandal to the backside.

Not to the face. And definitely not a clenched fist.

As Mr. Lee yelled something in his ear, leaning over him like an indescribable beast, Jisung’s brain whirled back to the afternoon’s events; whether to protect his already vulnerable mind or distract him he didn’t know.

Minho’s pessimistic words after their argument foggily repeated like a mantra.

_“My life isn’t all that easy, you know?”_

_“You’ll see…it’s been what? Fourteen days since we switched?”_

Fourteen days. Now when he had swapped lives with Lee Minho, he had kept his brain, and in that brain was a pretty good grasp on maths and numbers. Fourteen days equalled two weeks.

And on the first day he had awoken in this new body, this new life, his body had been in pain then too. Lee Minho had bruises on his midsection, small blue harmless little things Jisung had just assumed was soccer.

That hypothesis hadn’t been so correct.

Three hits had what it had been. One push, one slap, one punch. The last one had ached the most; hurt his eye, his cheek, his confidence, his heart.

As he laid in bed that night, the king-sized mattress his feet didn’t fall off, the top-quality silk sheets, the room at the perfect temperature due to the heating services, he cried.

Because maybe the life of the popular-pompous-privileged-prick soccer team captain Lee Minho wasn’t so godly or picture-perfect after all.

And he didn’t quite know what to think of that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, sorry this chapter took so long guys!
> 
> I have two months of high school left ever which is insane and a lot of my time has been going there (and working on some one-shots too - I'm thinking I'll get one up before I next update this, which might be a similar rate as this one was...)
> 
> Hope you guys don't mind too much! Thanks for sticking around despite the bad-updating schedule. I think its partly due to being unmotivated in life in general but also because I re-read Topple recently and idk why but my writing just seemed more genuine back then? Idk maybe I look back on it in rose-coloured glasses because it was my first work, but I also know that this 'ridiculous typically light-hearted situation with deep themes' is quite different to my usual 'realistic(ish) situation with a mixture of light and dark moments' (I mean look at Eighteen or E;S - both basic settings with dark shit so idk.
> 
> In other news hope you guys are all good! I'm pretty sad my high school 'chapter' is ending - had my final homeroom today and stuff so it's kinda sad, especially because my school is online. Still, overall I'm pretty good!
> 
> How did you think of this chapter? Jisung and Minho are both pretty flawed human beings huh? And what's up with Changbin? Or Jeongin? All interesting stuff (I hope). Please leave like a little analysis of what's going on in the story or your opinion - I'll read and reply to everything!
> 
> Thanks and see you in a bit,
> 
> Talic <3

**Author's Note:**

> Is my dead dumb ass really starting a whole new chaptered fic with five months of high school left? Correct.
> 
> So here we are - welcome people who haven't read Topple or my one-shots.
> 
> Warning - these chapters are going to be updated /hella/ slow. Like maybe one-every two-months-kinda-slow. So yeah, prepare yourself for that because honestly, I should rewrite at least four chapters but I want attention and validation now lmao. 
> 
> Hope you're all okay! Welcome to I AM YOU! I watched Freaky Friday for the first time recently and knew I HAD to do a Minsung body-swap fic! (I've planned this story in its entirety already and I just want to say - even though a lot of this chapter is crack /on/ crack, it gets a little angsty lol because I love making myself feel bad.)
> 
> I'm writing a Jisung-centric High School AU consecutively after my other Jisung-centric High School AU? Yep. I know, I know, but this one won't be as deVasTatInG I promise!
> 
> Anyways, comment what you think. See you in 1-2 months RIP fam. Bookmark this or smth so you can be updated when I finally write and post the next chapter.
> 
> (Also imagine Minho waking up to Justin Beiber's Baby - a fate no one deserves.)
> 
> Love you all. STAY safe!
> 
> Talic


End file.
